


knowing the difference can make all the difference

by mnabokov



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Dom/sub Undertones, First Time, Gratuitous Smut, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Some Plot, excessive use of metaphors, some dubcon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-08-31 22:22:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8596069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mnabokov/pseuds/mnabokov
Summary: Alec Lightwood, an unmated, untouched Omega from a line of Alphas, moves to New York City. His parents want him to concentrate on business, but after finally giving in to his wants, he's unsure if he belongs in his family's line of work. In which Alec learns what it means to be an Omega and what it means to be his own person, and maybe finds someone for him along the way.





	1. my life story's better than stories they telling about me

**Author's Note:**

> Contains gratuitous descriptions of unnecessary porn. Some behavior is questionable and some consent is dubious, as many ABO fics tend to be.
> 
> Title and chapter names from ‘Sweeterman’ by Drake.

It’s never easy.

 

It’s never easy being the only Omega in a whole family of Alphas and Betas, the only one that doesn’t automatically react when an Omega walks into Alec’s seventh-grade history class and all of the other Alphas shoot their heads up, their eyes glazed over with the pheromones of puberty.

 

It’s never easy ordering the suppressants, even though Alec has been doing so since that one fateful morning many years ago, when he woke up with his sheets slick and his cheeks flushed; and _oh_ , said Isabelle from where she had leaned casually against his bedroom door, watching Alec struggle to catch his breath. Every time he orders them, there’s still that small knot that festers low in his belly; he locks himself in his room and presses star sixty-seven, hopes that his voice doesn’t shake when he asks for four bottles of suppressant, and yes, he would like to pick them up next week, thank you, see you then.

 

It’s never easy taking the suppressants -- those things are _chemicals_ , made up of God knows what, bitter and shameful in terms of taste as well as pride -- but they work. They stop Alec’s traitorous body from flooding his veins with pheromones, mitigating both the dilation of Alec’s pupils and the flowering of want in his stomach.

 

Alec knows that the drugs are dangerous -- they’re chemicals, designed to purposefully unbalance his system -- and so he rations his intake. Three little white pills every night for five days in a row at the end of every month, eight months out of every year. He skips the suppressants -- the _chemicals --_ at the end of every three months to make sure he’s still healthy, still able to enter a heat. There’s a system, see? It’s not perfect, but it works; Alec is alive enough.

 

It’s never easy timing when he goes off the suppressants. He’ll choose the least inopportune time within a three-month time frame, and then lock himself up in his room for the better part of a week. These days are the most grueling: every nerve in Alec’s body is raw and sensitive, his skin flaming at every drag of coarse fabric against his neck, his thighs, his hands.

 

And it’s never easy dealing with the repercussions within his family.

 

They know, of course, how could they not? But his parents never talk about it. They work in the labs -- his mother is a forensic accountant and his father a computer forensics investigator -- and they come home late. They eat dinner and then they sleep. They don’t mention it, and so Alec doesn’t either.

 

It’s never easy living in the suburbs. Out here, it’s not small enough so that people can form pseudo-families; none of that white-picket fence, green lawn, neighbors coming over for barbecues and passing apple pies over fences kind of stuff. Their town isn’t big enough for anonymity either, so everyone knows everyone like it’s a small town, but they all treat each other with the kind of curt attitude that only anonymity grants.

 

They live somewhere in Virginia that no one knows, in a place not too big but not too small, and not too nice either. It’s close enough to Quantico that his parents commute every day, just two forensic experts consulting for the FBI.

 

It’s not easy, it’s not absolutely terrible; Alec makes it work.

 

That is, until they move to New York.

 

His parents get the call on a Sunday afternoon. Isabelle’s gone off with her friends and Alec is in his room.

 

“Hello?” his mother’s voice drifts in through Alec’s open door. Alec is filing papers for her and catches only bits and pieces of the conversation.

 

“Oh, thank you, yes -- yes, of course. Thank you again,” and then his mother appears in the doorway to Alec’s room, leaning casually against the doorframe. Abruptly, Alec thinks of how his sister had stood in that same doorway, a long time ago, her gaze knowing as Alec had shifted uncomfortable on his wet sheets.

 

Alec’s stomach turns in the same way that it did when he realized that he, Alec Lightwood, was an Omega: slowly, dangerously, painfully.

 

\--

 

They move to the city.

 

New York is big. The streets are dirty and the people are loud; cars are always honking and the lights are always on, no matter the time of day. But there is anonymity here: in the fleeting brush of shoulders with a woman holding a crying baby at the crosswalk, in the casual bump of elbows on the subway with a man touching his finger to his tongue, touching his finger to his newspaper. And here, although the pheromones can sometimes be overwhelming, especially when a throng of yelling teenaged boys walks by, no one knows who Alec is. No one gives him that _look_ when he goes out to get groceries; no one does a double-take, no one raises an eyebrow when they catch scent of him.

 

He walks out on the street to buy a bagel and coffee in the morning -- at a different place every time, because one, Alec wants to try new things, he is in New York after all, and two, Alec wants to submerge himself in this anonymity while it lasts.

 

He wanders the streets more often than not. He’s twenty-four now and he’s capable of taking care of himself. He probably should spend time at work on the new case that both of his parents are involved in, but there’s an air of freedom here -- especially now that Izzy and Alec share their own apartment a few blocks away from their parents’ -- and Alec takes advantage of it whenever he can.

 

Whenever he can’t, he’s roped into the office. His mom and dad are assigned to a case of money laundering or investment fraud -- something like that. Alec can’t bring himself to care.

 

Normally, Alec would be more interested in cases like these, but they’ve only been in New York for three weeks and Alec has yet to fully settle in. So when he’s reading through articles on his phone and hears his parents talking about an ‘unexpected turn’ in the case, he’s not really sure what he’s getting into.

 

Isabelle Lightwood has already secured a position in the FBI as a special agent, and she spends much more time on the case than Alec does. She genuinely enjoys it -- the thrill of the cases, the grueling work, and the unforgiving hours. Most of all, she strives to follow in their mother’s footsteps, wants to work her way to the top of the heap.

 

But naturally, the two of them are much closer than they ever will be to their parents, and so when Isabelle comes up with an absolutely _insane_ idea, she comes and tells Alec first.

 

“No,” Alec says firmly.

 

“ _Alec_ ,” begs Isabelle. “It’ll just be a night out -- for _fun_ \-- ”

 

“You’re going to the same exact club where one of the dealers went, Izzy,” Alec sighs. “Our job is to sit in the office, analyze the data, and report what we find. _Not_ go out into the field and risk the chance of ruining the investigation.”

 

Her eyes narrow and her jaw snaps shut. The room fills with the constant cacophony of traffic from the streets, but Alec has almost grown used to it now.

 

“We’re not going with FBI badges and warrants,” Isabelle says, slow and warningly. “We’re going out. We’re going to have fun.”

 

“And it just happens to be at the same exact location where Podlipsky met up with a prime suspect in our investigation,” replies Alec in the same manner.

 

The tension in the room freezes for a moment, the air thick with Alpha pheromones; Isabelle’s eyes narrow as she steps forward, closer to Alec.

 

Instinctively, Alec takes a step back, tilting his chin up, just slightly, but he knows that Izzy notices. Alec hates himself for it.

 

“It’ll be fun,” Izzy says, stepping back casually, as if she hadn’t realized that she had stepped forward, as if she couldn’t smell the musk of her scent, coiling throughout their apartment. “You need to get out more.”

 

Alec lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

 

Isabelle is more like their mother than Alec will ever be: Izzy wants to work her way to the top and she’s dedicated, if nothing else. Alec knows there’s reasoning with his sister when she makes up her mind. If anything, Alec feels a sudden, protective urge to accompany her to the club. Just to make sure she stays safe, he thinks to himself.

 

He looks over Isabelle’s left shoulder, at the drawer next to his bed, the orange pill bottles perfectly full; Alec hasn’t taken suppressants for two weeks now, and he can feel the beginnings of heat in his bones, behind his teeth, in his belly. He says, “You could’ve chosen any other club in New York, Izzy.”

 

Her mouth curls into a fierce smile before she turns and strides out of the room. Alec represses the urge to shudder, and then follows, eager to leave the clouds of Alpha pheromone behind.

 

They end up going to the club, Pandemonium. It’s not a far distance from their apartment. Isabelle hails a cab and Alec watches lights stream by as they make their way there.

 

The cold air stings a bit when Alec steps out of the cab. Even from the sidewalk, he can hear fragments of refrains of music, spilling out onto the sidewalk, along with laughter and yelling. Pandemonium, indeed.

 

“Come on,” she all but chirps. Isabelle pays the cab quickly and strides inside without hesitation. Alec follows. He pushes all thoughts of anything out of his mind.

 

As soon as the door opens and as soon as Alec steps inside, his pulse quickens. There’s something about the atmosphere here; the air is sultry and thick, heady and hot.

 

This is something _different_. There’s something provocative about the dark atmosphere and the neon lights, something suggestive about the smoke and the shadows. It’s difficult to make out faces, but everyone moves so fast it doesn’t matter; on the dance floor, bodies begin to lose their shape, melting into an amorphous crowd.

 

“Izzy,” Alec says, but he can barely hear himself over the thudding bass, the cheer of the crowd. “Izzy, I don’t think -- ”

 

But his sister is tugging on his elbow, dragging him across the club to the bar. “Relax,” she almost yells into his ear. “We’re here to have fun!”

 

We’re not going to find the guy, Alec wants to say. There are too many people here and it’s hard enough to make out the features on Isabelle’s face, let alone someone they’ve only seen on computer screens. I’m not relaxed, Alec wants to say. There must be something in the air -- or in the smoke or in the music -- because Alec almost feels dizzy with anticipation.

 

And then they’re heading into the back; they’re walking past a throng of hazy shadows, figures limned in strobe lights. Alec has to tear his eyes away from the dancing bodies and force himself to follow his sister. The bass of the music pounds loud but Alec’s heartbeat pounds louder, the two of them together impossible to ignore. Suddenly, Alec’s cotton t-shirt feels constricting, feels like the material has tightened around his body.

 

The scent of pheromones curls thick in the club -- but not just Alpha ones. Alec parts his lips, just slightly, and detects the scent of both Omegas and Alphas.

 

Alec swallows down the knot in his throat. He feels sweat pooling at the dip of his neck. He should’ve taken his suppressants, schedule be damned -- he should’ve --

 

Izzy shouts something at the bartender, an Alpha with a half-scowl etched on his face, who grunts in response and begins turning around and fixing drinks.

 

Alec should’ve planned better. There was a whole bottle of suppressants on his counter, just waiting for him, chemicals designed to hold back his biology --

 

“Here you go, Alec,” Izzy yells in his ear, thrusts a cold glass of something dark into his hand. “Drink up.”

 

“I’m fine,” Alec says, tries to give it back because he knows alcohol would be a very bad decision right around now, but Izzy has already turned back to the bartender in an attempt to make conversation -- or so it seems.

 

The music is loud, the people are louder, and Izzy doesn’t pay any attention to Alec. To any outsider, it may seem as though she were having an easy conversation with the bartender after a long week of work, but Alec sees the concentration in her eyes, the tight set of her jaw, the way her knuckles clench her drink.

 

It’s hard for Alec to think here, what with the pheromones and the music and his own heat-induced sensitivity. “I’m going to the bathroom,” he manages to rasp in Izzy’s ear, and Alec can’t be bothered to stay and see if she acknowledges him. He all but slams his drink back onto the bar, stomach churning, and lurches to find a bathroom.

 

He follows the signs and pushes apologetically through a throng of girls who seem amicable enough. They let him by easily and Alec shoves the door to the bathroom open, stumbles to the sink.

 

The cool air here is a staggering relief in comparison to the sultry atmosphere of the club. Clean light -- not neon, not obscured by smoke -- reflects off of clean linoleum floors and the plain white walls. Alec staggers to the sink and clutches onto the cool porcelain. Get it together, he tells himself. Water rushes from the faucet as he splashes his face, willing his blush to recede. When he glances in the mirror, Alec sees that his cheeks are flushed, pupils blown.

 

Damn pheromones, he thinks to himself, tugging at the collar of his shirt. It’s easier to think here; the bathroom walls filter out the music and the restroom is completely empty. There are no Alpha or Omega scents here, only the faintest trace of lavender freshener.

 

Even so, Alec stares at his reflection in the mirror as though he stares at the face of a traitor, as if his body has never known heat in the presence of Alpha pheromones, as if Alec is still fifteen years old and cannot accept the fact that he is an _Omega_.

 

“Fuck,” Alec shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. Isabelle’s still out there, Alec needs to get back out there -- he should’ve brought his suppressants --

 

Control, he thinks. Control yourself, control your instincts.

 

And then he’s pushing himself away from the sink before he can psych himself out.

 

Alec’s blinking and then he’s pushing open the door to the bathroom.

 

While the bathroom was white and sterile and lavender, Pandemonium is smoke and twilight and stars. Night is always so much _more_ than day, noises sharper in an unpolluted landscape, scents stronger in an evening zephyr, lights brighter in the dark.

 

Now the music is back, smoke clouds the edges of Alec’s vision, and the unadulterated scent of pheromones is stronger than before. This is stimulation in a way Alec’s never experienced; this is new and overwhelming and this is _intoxicating_ \-- Alec thinks that he could get used to this, and that’s the thing that scares him most of all.

 

Alec staggers down the dark hallway, blinking his heavy eyelids. “Excuse me,” he says, but his voice is hoarse and Alec can barely even hear himself over the thudding music. “Excuse me,” he tries again, pushing past a group of men loitering at the mouth of the hallway that leads into the main room of Pandemonium. In the process, Alec has to swivel to avoid getting hit as one of the men -- drunk out of his mind, probably -- laughs uproariously, throwing out an arm to exaggerate his laughter.

 

And as Alec twists around, trying to avoid any flailing limbs, he subsequently collides with another warm body.

 

Alec turns around reflexively to begin to apologize, but  then something in the room shifts; Alec’s gut tenses and something inside of him _hitches_ \--

 

Or -- or something, because, there’s a pause; there’s a click; there’s a change --

 

He should’ve brought his suppressants --

 

As soon as Alec opens his mouth, the distinctive scent of Alpha pheromones floods his olfactory senses. Alec becomes very much aware of the way his skin suddenly burns for a touch; a gland or an organ or something inside of Alec slowly awakens -- has been awakening, for the past few days -- and Alec can’t close his goddamned mouth, can’t stop his cheeks from flushing.

 

“Alright?” the man who holds Alec asks. And oh, Alec’s brain helpfully supplies, the man has one hand on Alec’s shoulder, the other hand wrapped around one of Alec’s wrists, one thumb pressing against the bare skin covering Alec’s racing pulse, to hold Alec.

 

“Yeah,” Alec hears himself say faintly.

 

He should’ve --

 

“Yeah,” Alec repeats, more firmly, nodding now. “Yeah, I’m alright -- I’m, I’m sorry, I just -- ” Alec looks behind him for the group of drunken men: there are none. “I --” Alec’s gaze is drawn back to the man in front of him, whose head is cocked to the side curiously, his gaze warm and heavy on Alec. “I’m -- sorry, again,” Alec shakes his head; it feels as though he’s on fire -- _he should’ve_ \-- his cheeks are flushed and his body aches. Alec is hyperaware of the way the man -- the _Alpha_ \-- holds Alec’s bare wrist, their bare skin presses tightly together.

 

“It’s quite fine, you don’t have to apologize,” the man remarks easily, one eyebrow raised. “But are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

 

“I’m fine,” Alec manages to rasp but his mouth remains parted even after he lets the words fall gracelessly from his lips, breathing in the scent of pheromones like he’s never scented an Alpha before, as if he were addicted to the very smell of another Alpha. “I just -- I just need to find my sister, she’s here, I don’t -- ”

 

“Of course,” the man says, seriously, as if this were an ordinary conversation, as if Alec weren’t an Omega -- pupils dilated and cheeks flushing -- as if everything were normal --

 

And suddenly, Alec yanks his hand out of the other man’s grip, stumbling backward. Chest heaving unevenly, eyes blinking rapidly, cheeks thoroughly flushed, Alec belatedly realizes that the Alpha is rather, unfortunately, attractive. Alec’s mouth still hangs slightly open, and he can’t stop _looking_ \--

 

The Alpha says something then, his face slightly concerned, lips moving. But the music's too loud, and suddenly there’s a rush of people streaming toward the bathroom --

 

Alec sways forward. He feels not entirely sober; there’s something rushing in his veins, and something tight in his stomach; he suddenly becomes hyperaware of all the places where his pants hug his calves, his thighs, his hips tightly. “What?” Alec says, stepping in, closer to the Alpha.

 

“I said,” the Alpha murmurs, and his lips are oh so close to the delicate curve of Alec’s ear. There’s a warm rush of air as the Alpha breathes, and his scent is heady this close. Alec’s cock twitches in his pants. “Will you be fine on your own?”

 

“Yeah,” Alec says, cognizant of the fact that, while he stands very close to this Alpha -- close enough to catch the scent of something darker, muskier, underneath all the pheromones -- there’s still a good breadth of space between their bodies -- between their mouths, their chests, their hips. “I’ll be fine,” he hears himself say.

 

And then the Alpha is stepping back. His eyes are dark, and even though he’s slightly shorter than Alec, there’s something in the way he holds himself, a quiet dignity in the line of his shoulders, the set of his jaw.

 

“Magnus!” someone calls from behind them, and the Alpha barely spares a glance in that general direction before refocusing his gaze on Alec.

 

“‘M fine,” Alec says again, vehemently ignoring the way his body screams no, he will not be fine; Alec ignores the way his body gravitates toward this man -- this Alpha -- the way Alec’s eyes are drawn to the long line of the Alpha’s body. Control, he tells himself. “I’ll just -- ” Alec jerks his head in the direction of the bar.

 

Alec thinks that the Alpha nods in response but can’t be sure, already making his way out of that dark hallway, back into the main room of Pandemonium.

 

The pheromones are still present here, perhaps even more so, but they are less heady, less intoxicating now that there is a mélange of scents -- Alpha, Omega, hints of Beta. Alec carefully breathes in through his nose as he makes his way back to the bar. He’s back in control now, his head clear and his thoughts streamline.

 

The music still pounds, Alec’s heart still races, the laughter and noise of the club’s patrons are still ever present, but for some reason, it all feels muted, like how in the last moments of twilight the whole world feels soft and dull and worn around the edges. Before he can stop himself, Alec glances over his shoulder, back to that secluded hallway that leads to the bathrooms.

 

The Alpha stands there, still, watching.

 

Their eyes meet and Alec whips his head around, cheeks burning.

 

“Izzy,” Alec calls as he stalks up to the bar. Alec suddenly feels like he just sprinted a mile: his heart pounds in his chest, his blood boils under his skin.

 

Isabelle spins around, surprise evident on her face. “I thought you’d left -- ” she begins, still leaning against the bar. The bartender wipes a glass, watching Alec somberly.

 

Alec barely spares the other Alpha a glance before grabbing onto his sister, emboldened by the adrenaline pumping through his veins. “Time to go.”

 

“But -- ” Isabelle starts, eyebrows furrowing.

 

“Fine.” Alec lets go of her arm, spinning around on his heels and pacing away from the bar, towards the exit. He shouldn’t be here anyway, he shouldn’t let things like this affect him, he should’ve --

 

In his ears, blood rushes; in his throat, his heart pounds; in his stomach, his insides squeeze uncomfortably. Alec feels muscles in his abdomen -- muscles that haven’t been flexed since his last heat -- flex. He rushes out of the club without pausing to look back, but still feeling the gaze of the Alpha heavy on his back.

 

Outside, the sky is dark and sweet, free from pheromones and the miasma of alcohol. Alec breathes in slowly, savors every measured breath, his lungs bees, and the air smoke, soothing and warm.

 

“Fuck,” Alec breathes out, scrubbing at his eyes with the backs of his hands. For a moment, he stands there on the sidewalk. Then he straightens up and hails a taxi.

 

Thankfully, the driver remains quiet throughout the ride. Alec sits in the back of the cab, his pants slipping across the smooth black leather. Underneath his seat, the engine of the taxi rumbles and Alec imagines it as the sound of a great beast awakening from slumber, its chest as large as a cavern, rising and falling with every even breath.

 

 _Will you be fine on your own?_ the Alpha had murmured, right into Alec’s ear, low and soft and provocative; perhaps the man didn’t mean for his words to sound that way, but Alec’s pants feel tight at the memory of it. Alec stares out of the taxi window, unseeing, thinking of the press of two fingers against his bare wrist --

 

Alec shivers.

 

He thinks of Isabelle, still back at the club, fiercely and relentlessly dedicated to the case. Alec imagines what his parents would say to him.

 

The cab reaches his apartment soon after that; Alec thanks the driver, pays the amount due and resolutely ignores the way his hands tremble faintly. Something coils low in his belly.

 

Alec takes the stairs two at the time; he doesn’t want to take the elevator and risk the chance of meeting someone else, standing in the same, confined area --

 

He should’ve taken suppressants.

 

Alec fumbles with his key, the metal cool and heavy in his fingers; the teeth of the key refuse to catch and Alec feels his frustration mounting with every second.

 

Finally, _finally_ , the lock clicks and Alec all but shoves the door open in his haste to get inside.

 

Alec rushes into his room, glancing at the suppressants -- but he shouldn’t take them now, not in the middle of his heat -- before licking his lips and entering his bathroom.

 

Alec shucks off his clothes with efficiency. Every drag of fabric against his skin triggers a little flush of heat in his belly, and by the time Alec stands in the middle of his bathroom, feet clammy with sweat on cold tile, clothes strewn around him like used tissues, his cock stands erect and a glob of slickness leaks down his thigh.

 

The shower head coughs before spitting out water as Alec cranks the handle, a shiver running through his entire body when his palm touches the cool metal. Every sensation is heightened; when water falls onto Alec’s back in warm rivulets, he lets out a choked groan. When he parts his lips, streams of water slip down his lips, causing goosebumps to erupt on Alec’s arms. When he finally reaches down to tug at his cock, saliva pools in the back of Alec’s throat, and he feels his nipples tighten involuntarily.

 

When Alec finally steps from the shower later, his mirrors have fogged over and his body feels spent; his muscles are exhausted from the throes of heat, and he aches for warmth.

 

Rummaging through his closet, Alec searches for the softest clothes he owns, the sweaters and sweatpants, because those will be easiest on his sensitive skin. Worn and shapeless, they are the clothes he wears every time he goes off suppressants.

 

He’s tugging on a loose sweater when the door to the apartment opens.

 

“Alec?” calls Isabelle. Her voice carries past the kitchen, down the empty hallway and through Alec’s open door.

 

Ignoring her, Alec shuffles toward his bed and silently clambers in, tugging the sheets up after he’s in.

 

“Alec?” she says again, and Alec hates the gentleness in her voice.

 

Wooden slates creak underneath Isabelle’s steps, as she enters Alec’s room, making her way over to his bed. Alec watches her as she approaches.

 

Her makeup is a little smeared around her eyes, like she’d rubbed them on her way back to their apartment, but other than that, she looks perfectly put together.

 

“So?” Alec asks, inwardly relieved when his voice doesn’t crack.

 

She lowers herself onto the foot of Alec’s bed slowly.

 

“It’s not good,” she admits, carefully looking out the window, to the lights and streets and cars of the city beyond. “I think the whole club is involved in this.” She shifts her gaze back to Alec, and Alec closes his eyes. Although Alec’s body remembers Isabelle’s scent -- knows her smell like a shark knows blood -- that recognition can’t cover the fact that she’s an Alpha; Alec can feel his body responding to her pheromones. Not necessarily in a sexual way, but responding nevertheless.

 

Alec’s voice sounds detached when he says, “You can’t let our parents find out you were there.”

 

“Why not?” Izzy counters immediately. The bedsprings shift as Alec’s sister straightens her spine, daring Alec to comment.

 

Alec does.

 

“Because it’s a place that they’re -- that you’re investigating, Izzy.” Alec opens his eyes, looking straight up at the ceiling. “I don’t want you to become more involved in this more than you have to. Leave the field work to the field agents.”

 

Isabelle physically bristles; the bed echoes her movements, and Alec inwardly winces every time the bedsheets shift against his skin. “I’m going there again,” she states. “Tomorrow night.”

 

“Don’t.”

 

“I will,” she retorts, and the bedsprings actually creak when she stands abruptly. “And you can come with me to make sure I don’t step out of line, or you can stay here.”

 

Alec wonders if she can smell his heat, or if she can smell victory when Alec slides his eyes shut in defeat.

 

\--

 

The next night comes startlingly fast.

 

Alec’s mindlessly crunching numbers when Izzy knocks on his door.

 

“Are you coming or not?”

 

Alec startles, blinking at her blindly before glancing behind him, looking through the window. Outside, New York City’s cityscape burns with neon lights and flashing ads; the evening sky juxtaposes the lights with a thousand stars.

 

“I don’t -- ” Alec begins, frowning slightly. His heat has been surprisingly tame throughout the day, only a slow burn low in his chest, a constant but bearable ache underneath his ribs.

 

“We’ll be quick,” she offers, glancing down at her watch. “I just wanted to talk to Mike again, see if I could poke around in the back.”

 

“Mike,” Alec echoes. Outwardly, he crosses his arms and purses his lips discontentedly, but inwardly he knows he’ll be accompanying her to Pandemonium. He doesn’t want to, but there’s a familial urge to make sure she’ll be alright, an Omegan urge to _protect_ ; he doesn’t want her out there on her own.

 

“The bartender,” Izzy helpfully adds. “Come on, Alec, let’s go.” She fixes him with a stern gaze and Alec looks away before rising.

 

Pandemonium is packed, perhaps even more than yesterday.

 

“Saturday night crowd,” remarks Isabelle, as she holds the front door open for Alec.

 

“Yeah,” Alec answers.

 

And then, as soon as Alec steps into Pandemonium for the second time that weekend, his heat suddenly flares up in his belly as if it hadn’t been dormant the entire morning. Control, he tells himself firmly, pushing through the dancing bodies and toward the bar, following the path that Izzy carves out of the crowd for him.

 

There’s a Beta girl tending the bar tonight; she smiles at Isabelle when the latter approaches and Isabelle plops into a seat by the bar like a regular, no outward indication of the fact that she’s an FBI agent filing away every seemingly-innocent comment to analyze later. With significantly less panache, Alec takes the seat next to Izzy.

 

“So,” Isabelle essentially purrs, her lips curling into something soft and demure, as she leans forward onto the bar table. Alec watches as the two women begin chatting like old friends. How she does it, Alec will never know.

 

The music pounds, as loud as it was last night, and even from where Alec sits by the bar, across the club from the dance floor, the potent tang of pheromones wafts across Pandemonium. It settles in in Alec’s lungs, in the back of his throat, in between his teeth. Alec shakes his leg with anxiousness, eyes darting from his drink to Isabelle to the dance floor and back, carefully ignoring the Beta.

 

Isabelle engages the bartender in a conversation about life at Pandemonium, what typical evenings entail, what typical patrons are like.

 

“Yeah,” the female Beta says, nodding as she pours something pinkish into a martini glass. “Some nights, when the boss comes during the weekends, it can get really crazy.” The bartender looks up then, catches Alec’s gaze, and grins.

 

“Yeah?” Isabelle turns to look at Alec as well, and Alec looks back to the dance floor, shifting his shoulders under their sudden scrutiny. “My brother likes it crazy.”

 

“Is that so?” Alec thinks the bartender says, but he can’t exactly decipher her tone over the noises of the crowd, and he has no intention of finding out.

 

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Alec says to Isabelle, doesn’t look back at her nor the Beta as he pushes back his chair, making his way back into that dark hallway that leads to the bathroom.

 

Something in Alec’s chest skips; his pants tighten over his skin tightens over his bones and Alec resolutely does not think of the dark-haired Alpha he’d met here last night.

 

Alec’s in the bathroom, breathing in the pale scent of lavender and splashing cold water on his face in an attempt to remove the flush from his cheeks, when the door swings open with a gentle swish.

 

Immediately, a wave of air, carrying the scent of spice and pheromones, rushes into the bathroom. Alec freezes instinctively, still bent over the sink.

 

“Hello, stranger.”

 

With no small amount of effort, Alec forces himself to straighten up slowly. When he looks at himself in the mirror, the flush still stains his cheeks rosy and his pupils have dilated.

 

Alec turns.

 

The Alpha from last night stands in front of the door to the bathroom -- blocking the only exit, Alec observes -- his posture slightly slouched, hands tucked in his pockets in a caricature of casualty.

 

But Alec can see the clench in his jaw, the poise with which the man holds himself.

 

Hello, stranger, indeed.

 

And what should Alec say to that? He’s dimly aware that his lips have parted of their own accord -- there’s a certain muskiness, a hint of cinnamon and spice and earthiness belying the sweet scent of Alpha pheromones -- and Alec drinks in the scent of _this_ Alpha.

 

His thoughts have scattered into a million, microscopic fragments; Alec considers shoving past this man and reentering the club; Alec considers brushing past this Alpha, scratching two nails against the man’s bare wrist in an echo of their encounter last night -- and, well, isn’t that a lovely thought?

 

In the end, the Alpha decides for him.

 

The Alpha steps to the side, away from the door, tilting his head towards the exit as if to say, see? I can be courteous, and as if to establish something like friendly terms, as if to say, please after you, as if he wants to reassure Alec of -- of something.

 

And then --

 

“I wanted to check and see if you were doing alright,” the man says casually when Alec remains unforthcoming. “Didn’t seem too well yesterday.” The Alpha drags his gaze over Alec’s body and Alec refuses to shiver. “Hope you got home alright.”

 

“I was fine,” Alec says. He reaches out and shuts off the tap. “Thank you,” he remembers to add, albeit roughly.

 

“Oh, what for?” the Alpha leans against the bathroom wall now, crosses his legs at his ankles casually like he owns the place. “I didn’t do anything.”

 

Alec thinks he feels saliva pooling underneath his tongue. He resists the urge to lick his lips. “I -- yeah,” Alec shifts his gaze to the ceiling, to the porcelain sink, to the bathroom stalls, and back to the Alpha. His traitorous heart pounds in his chest; Alec envisions the hormones that it pumps through his body, imagines the dopamine flooding his synapses. “Thanks for that, I guess.”

 

“Although,” the Alpha continues, his eyes dark. “I was wondering.” The man pushes himself off the wall with the grace of a cat, hands still folded into his pockets, prowls forward with a dangerous cock in his hips. Alec slowly steps back and feels the small of his back bump into the hard stone lip of the counter behind him; he can’t take his eyes off of the Alpha’s mouth, can’t close his lips, can’t stop drinking in that delicious scent --

 

“What brings an Omega showing the first signs of heat to a club like this?”

 

“Why,” Alec asks, voice hoarse, “What kind of a club is this?”

 

The Alpha stops a good four or five paces away from Alec. He shrugs.

 

But then his mouth twists into a knowing smile. “What kind of club did you think it would be?”

 

Alec can’t help it -- he scoffs. The adrenaline and the pheromones pump viciously through his veins now, mixing with the powerful scent of Alpha to form a dangerous cocktail that swirls in Alec’s rueful smile. Alec’s stomach burns with want, his cheeks are flushed with desire, but he scoffs and he looks at the Alpha through his eyelashes.

 

“See you around,” Alec almost smirks, shaking his head as he walks past the Alpha -- and Jesus Christ, that scent is intoxicating -- and swings open the door to the bathroom, bracing himself for the sensations of the Pandemonium.

 

“Not going to offer me a name?” the Alpha singsongs from behind Alec, but Alec has stopped dead in his tracks.

 

The door to the bathroom hangs open. Alec has just begun to step outside, but there are people walking down the dark hallway -- one burly man, a tall woman, and another woman with a distinctive tattoo sprawling across her shoulder -- and Alec stands frozen in front of the door that hangs ajar; yellow light from the bathroom spills out into the hallway.

 

The trio walks by without sparing Alec so much as a glance.

 

“Alright there?” the Alpha’s voice speaks again, except this time much closer, and Alec swears he can feel the hot billow of air at the back of his neck.

 

“Yeah,” Alec replies hollowly. He swings open the door the rest of the way and walks into the hallway, still staring in the direction that the trio left. “Fine.”

 

“So,” prompts the Alpha, who follows at a distance.

 

“Who are they?” Alec glances at the Alpha before back at the retreating trio.

 

“They’re regulars,” the man says, although he sounds slightly bemused, “There’s an exit at the end of the hallway that leads to a complex behind the club.”

 

“Right,” says Alec. He glances back at the Alpha. “Alexander,” he remembers to introduce himself. “Or Alec.”

 

“Alexander,” echoes the man. He extends a perfectly manicured hand. “Magnus.”

 

“Right,” Alec says again, faintly, except when he takes the Alpha’s hand -- Magnus’ hand -- Alec feels an honest-to-God lurch in his stomach; he squeezes his lips into a thin line and shakes Magnus’ hand with what he hopes to be a firm grip.

 

The faintest of smiles tugs the corners of Magnus’ mouth upwards. As Magnus’ grip loosens, Alec fully expects the Alpha to withdraw. But instead, the man’s palm slides forward, barely half an inch, and the nail of Magnus’ thumb scrapes a delicate line onto the paper-thin skin of Alec’s wrist before Magnus pulls his hand back.

 

“A pleasure to meet you, Alexander.” Magnus’ smile widens a bit, and Alec shudders involuntarily. “Is there any chance I can get you a drink?”

 

“I -- ” Alec begins, then licks his lips and tries again, “I have to go, my -- ”

 

“Your sister,” agrees Magnus, placing his hand back into his pocket.

 

Here, in the hallway, Alec has to stand close to Magnus to hear the man speak; the Alpha has adopted a casual lean against the wall of the hallway, as if to show that he is no threat, as if to show that he is nonchalant, as if to invite Alec to come stand in between his legs, press his mouth against Magnus’ pulse.

 

Alec blinks rapidly. “Yeah. Yeah, I -- have to go.”

 

“See you around,” the man calls as Alec strides down the hallway, away from the Alpha, away from Magnus.

 

Alec paces out of that dark hallway, past the dance floor and the hazy shadows of bodies melting into bodies, toward the bar.

 

The seat that Isabelle had taken at the end of the bar is gone.

 

Alec whirls around.

 

He means to look for Izzy -- he really does -- but Magnus is standing there still, at the entrance to the hallway, and his hands are still in his goddamned pockets; he smirks in a complacent sort of way, as if to say, _hello, stranger_ , as if to say, _I will make sure I see you around_ , as if to say, _will you be fine on your own?_ and, _I know you won’t be fine on your own_ and --

 

“Alec!” Isabelle’s voice jolts Alec back into the moment. He turns around and she has a hand on his elbow; funny, he hadn’t even felt it. “I was looking for you. I thought you’d gone to the dance floor -- ”

 

“No,” Alec says, “I was just in the bathroom.”

 

Isabelle frowns and looks as though she wants to argue.

 

“Come on,” Alec begins shouldering his way through the crowd, “I saw something you should know about.”

 

\--

 

“Looks like that, yeah,” Alec confirms, clearing the Google search bar. The words “Maori tattoo” disappear from the box with a quick tap. Alec hands the phone back to his sister.

 

“You’re sure?” she demands.

 

“Yes, I’m sure,” he sighs, tugging his sweater over his head. Alec can almost feel Izzy rolling her eyes from where she perches on Alec’s desk, but when he’s this close to heat, the weight of an Alpha’s gaze -- family or not -- on his bare skin almost feels like a physical touch.

 

“That’s them, then,” she sighs. She worries her bottom lip between her teeth uncharacteristically.

 

“Don’t,” warns Alec preemptively.

 

She narrows her eyes at him. “I didn’t say anything.”

 

“You have that look,” he explains.

 

“What look?”

 

“Like you want to go back,” he shrugs. “Like you don’t want to tell Mom and Dad about this. Like you want to figure this out -- ”

 

“I want to figure this out on my own!” she interrupts and Alec wisely does not roll his eyes. “And besides,” Izzy continues, shaking her hair over her shoulder, “If we told them, then they’d have to stop us. And technically, I’m not involved in the case.” She shrugs. “So really, we’re not doing anything wrong.”

 

“Isabelle -- ” Alec begins.

 

“I’m going back in two days,” she smiles saccharinely. “Feel free to come if you’d wish.”

 

\--

 

And so, two days later, when Alec wakes and finds himself mindlessly rutting against his mattress, cock hard and leaking, hips canting shallowly, sheets soiled from the slickness that drips between his thighs, he tells Isabelle no.

 

“Alec,” she raps her knuckles on his door -- Alec thinks that there’s no way she can’t smell the heat that rolls off of him in waves, even with a door and thin walls separating them -- “Alec, I think something important’s going down tonight.”

 

When Alec only groans in response, she resorts to a different tactic.

 

“Alec, take a pill. We moved across three states for this; imagine what Mom would say if she knew.”

 

Oh, Alec can imagine it alright. He can pretty much envision the ways his mother’s tongue would curl around the words “Omega” and “heat” like how parchment curls around flame; his father would have that look -- the cold _this wouldn’t happen if you were an Alpha; honestly, it’s as if you have no control,_ or the disappointed _my oldest son is an Omega_ , and maybe the dry, _if only_ ’s --

 

“Low blow,” he rumbles; he knows she doesn’t mean it.

 

Izzy huffs. “Okay, fine, it was. I apologize.” Then, “But Alec, I’m leaving in fifteen, whether or not you’re coming with me.”

 

Alec’s mind skips back two nights, to the smell of cinnamon and spice, sickeningly sweet pheromones, two bare fingers against Alec’s pulse, one nail scraping erotically against Alec’s bare wrist --

 

It’s never easy getting out of bed when in heat, but today, every scratch of the bedsheets against Alec’s thighs feels like a whip against raw flesh; his skin wants nothing but touch skin and it’s almost cathartic when Alec reaches down to slide two fingers into himself easily: he is already hungry and loose and warm.

 

A half-moan, half-cry manages to tear its way out of Alec’s throat, despite his best attempts to keep quiet. There’s no hiding it: Isabelle could probably smell Alec’s heat as soon as she stepped outside of her room -- she has no misconceptions of how Omegan biology works. But regardless, Alec feels uncomfortable being so, so vocal.

 

So he forces himself to bite down on his pillow, mashes his cheek into the material and pretends that his fingers are a cock, imagines the husky scent of Alpha pheromones. The musk of sex and Omegan slick soon fills the room as Alec ruts shallowly against his mattress, one hand working in between his legs, fingers slick with wetness, the other clenching his pillow. It’s not hard to bring himself to the edge; with a few rough tugs, his body jerks, almost convulsively, once, twice, before he comes.

 

When Alec finally musters the strength to pull himself out of bed, he eyes the bottle of pills on his drawer warily. Really, he shouldn’t start taking pills in the middle of his heat -- the pheromones have already suffused throughout his body -- but it’s been done before. Alec’s heat will fold in upon itself and fall dormant for a certain period of time, depending on the strength of the heat and the fertility of the Omega, really, before resurfacing stronger than before.

 

“Alec!” calls Izzy from across the hallway. Even through the closed door, her voice resonates in Alec’s room. “Five minutes!”

 

Alec takes the suppressants.

 

 _It’s for the work,_ he tells himself _. It’s to keep Izzy in line. It’s what my -- it’s what I’m supposed to do._

 

And, some thirty minutes after that, Alec finds himself, for the third time that week, clenching his teeth as he swings open the door to Pandemonium.

 

The suppressants have dulled down his system enough. His skin no longer vibrates with that heated itch and the desire that had begun to snap its jaws in Alec’s belly has fallen into slumber. He’s in control of his senses, in control of himself.

 

Pandemonium is busy as ever. The club is nearly packed. There are people everywhere, sprawled across the lounge, dancing on the floor, drinking at the bar.

 

Alec and Isabelle can’t even find seats by the bar; they stand a little off to the side, cold drinks in hand.

 

“Right there, you see it, there’s a hallway next to that guy -- yeah, they went down there and turned to the left.” Alec has to stand close to Izzy so she can hear.

 

“Damn,” Isabelle murmurs under her breath.

 

Alec agrees; the hallway is difficult to see unless you’re looking for it. He licks his lips and takes a swing from his glass, the drink sliding down his throat easily.

 

“Okay, Mike’s back tonight,” Izzy jerks her head in the direction of the bar.

 

Alec’s senses are muted now; the music is only a dull noise at the back of his head. His gut clenches and something inside of him hitches.

 

_This wouldn’t happen if you were an Alpha --_

 

“They’re going out at the end of his shift,” she glances at her watch, “In a few minutes. We should see if -- ”

 

 _If only_ \--

 

The wave of desire that’s been simmering in Alec’s belly the whole day swells, and Alec suddenly wants to go back into the world of spiced pheromones and thrilling touches; something about it entices him, since he’s pushed that world away for so long --

 

“ -- we can tag along,” Isabelle snags the material of Alec’s shirt between her fingers, “Hey, Alec, you alright?”

 

_Hello, stranger._

 

“Alec,” Isabelle hisses, “Look, it’s him -- I think he wants me to -- ”

 

Before he can think better of it, Alec shakes his arm loose, strides towards that hallway.

 

By the time Izzy turns back to glance at Alec, he’s already halfway across the club, slipping easily through the crowd.

 

Alec takes another gulp of his drink, pushes through the crowd.

 

Alec isn’t claustrophobic but the walls of the hallway begin to feel like they’re closing in on him; the smell of pheromones mixes with the smell of alcohol and perfume and cologne, swirling evocatively with the smoke and the neon lights. Everything is darker, sharper, more ragged here.

 

Alec licks his lips again. He thinks he can feel his pulse quicken in his chest; the suppressants can dull the sharp edges of his want but they can’t stop the roar of blood in his ears, nor can they put out the conflagration in Alec’s belly.

 

Flames of desire lick the inside of Alec’s chest; his breath comes quick and ragged and his cheeks _burn --_

 

“Back again?”

 

That same voice -- that same fucking voice --

 

“Alexander, hm? Did you miss me?”

 

And that scent, Christ, Alec knows that scent like a shark knows blood: sweet with the pheromones of an Alpha but rich with earthy undertones --

 

Alec whirls around.

 

Magnus stands close -- almost impossibly close; how did he get so close without Alec noticing? -- but not touching, no, never touching. His irises are dark and nearly indistinguishable from his pupils.

 

“Magnus,” Alec breathes.

 

“Hello, Alexander,” Magnus replies, his eyes crinkled in amusement. His voice is smooth and mellifluous.

 

A memory floats to the surface of Alec’s thoughts, light and buoyant, gently lightly in the wave of Alec’s reminiscing: a sixteen-year-old Omega, curled up underneath his sheets, blocking the rest of the world out, locked in his room and aching with want, hips rocking ashamedly --

 

“A drink,” Alec blurts out. “You offered to get me a drink.”

 

The memory slips away like a bubble in oil and Magnus’ eyes flash. Alec has to forcibly stop himself from swaying forward. There’s something dangerous about the way Alec’s stomach curls with warmth, something warning and intoxicating and irresistible.

 

“Perhaps somewhere quieter,” Magnus cocks an eyebrow. “Care for a tour of my apartment?”

 

It turns out, there’s a second, shrouded exit at the back of the dark hallway.

 

Alec follows Magnus’ scent more than anything -- his jaw has slacked and Alec can feel saliva pooling at the back of his throat -- as the latter navigates through the near-darkness, pushing open the hidden door that leads to an empty stairwell.

 

“This way,” Magnus pronounces, and although he gestures with a flourish, there’s a hitch to his voice that Alec can’t bring himself to closely examine.

 

Alec’s thighs quiver as he steps up the stairs; every step stretches his pants tight across his thighs and Alec becomes hyperaware of the weight of Magnus’ gaze on his back --

 

“So,” Magnus drags out the last vowel, “Your sister?” Magnus taps the metal banister with a polished nail and the metallic ring echoes throughout the empty stairwell. “She’s still in the club.”

 

The air here is _stifling_ ; it is unbelievably hot, the air oppressive and heavy around them with both humidity and pheromones --

 

Alec twists his head over his shoulder. Magnus raises his gaze. The stairwell is quiet.

 

For a moment, Alec considers saying nothing. After all, he’s only known this man for a few days, if a few half-assed conversations count for anything.

 

And yet, there’s something heavy pressing on Alec’s chest, and he --

 

“I just -- it’s like, my whole life -- I’ve being doing what’s best for my parents, for my family. And -- ” Alec trails off, turns back around.

 

“And now?” prompts Magnus, his voice liquid and cloying in the empty stairwell. Alec takes the last step, up onto the landing.

 

Alec looks over his shoulder again and he can practically _feel_ his eyes cloud with lust; Magnus watches Alec through his eyelashes as the Alpha steps onto the landing, stands right next to Alec.

 

Alec can’t help it, he inhales deeply, his chest swelling with a cloud of Alpha pheromones.

 

They melt straight into his body, diffusing through the skin of his lungs, saturating his veins. Alec wants to keep Magnus there, hold him in every cell of Alec’s body --

 

And Magnus smells divine, as if his breath were freshly tilled earth and Alec’s body was a plant in the sun, curling in on itself for warmth; as if Magnus were made of everything rich and sweet, as if he were made of homespun song and dark, aged wine and towering redwoods --

 

“And now,” Alec manages, although his voice cracks on the last syllable. “I want -- ” Alec trails off, thinks that the way his body flushes is answer enough.

 

“Oh Alexander,” Magnus all but purrs, and the Alpha takes a stride forward.

 

Alec steps back, his eyes catching on the curl of Magnus’ smile, the swell of his lip, the dip of his collarbone, the flush of his skin.

 

There’s a quiet thud as Alec’s back hits the metal railing of the stairs. Something cracks in Alec’s gut; the dam that the suppressants had erected begins to sag, swelling with the tide of Alec’s want.

 

And Alec _wants_ \-- like he never has before in his life --

 

A whine builds in his throat, high and needy and humiliating, as if Alec has never inhaled the burning pheromones of an Alpha before; Alec instinctively reaches behind him blindly, hands clammy as they wrap around the cold pole of the banister, and his legs part of their own accord; his spine slouches into a serpentine curve, as if his shoulders have known the weight of the sky; his mouth falls open and he breathes in each breath raggedly, as if the _taste_ of an Alpha, so palpable in the air, could quench the flames of desire licking his belly.

 

“Magnus,” Alec pants again, and the edges of his vision begin to blur; he can’t think of anything else right now besides Magnus -- besides skin and flesh and touch and feel and _fuck_ \--

 

Something soft inside of Alec unclenches. Some gland somewhere inside of Alec begins to swell, fueled by the cloud of pheromones in the air. Alec feels open and wet and slick and the only thing he can think is, _how have I gone for so long without this?_

 

“Yes, darling?” Magnus cocks his head as he stalks forward and he looks like a _predator_ ; he looks dangerous and addicting, looks like everything Alec has refrained from touching his whole life.

 

“I -- ” Alec breaks off suddenly, letting out a low groan as he feels his insides _squeeze_ , and then there’s something undoubtedly wet slipping out of his hole, lubricating his thighs --

 

Magnus’ nostrils flare. There’s no possible way that Magnus can’t scent _that_ ; even Alec can detect the salty-sweet waft of Omegan oil.

 

“I need,” Alec slurs, “I need you -- ”

 

And Magnus closes the distance between them in a heartbeat, finally, _finally_ , reaching out to smooth two palms down Alec’s chest, and Alec feels his nipples tighten automatically in response.

 

The vinous scent of musk and salt and sweat stains the air, and Alec feels intoxicated. He never wants to let go of this kind of living, this visceral, vivid living, as bright and as acetic as lemons or copper, so, so different from the soft, mellow thrums of twilight --

 

“You sure?” Magnus leans forward, and his scent is positively sublime. There’s still space separating their hips, and Alec dazedly thinks he should rectify that when --

 

When Magnus surges forward, presses his whole body against Alec’s front and Alec’s brain _stutters_ , as Magnus’ cock presses insistently against Alec’s belly --

 

“You want _this_?” Magnus murmurs, his lips brushing against the edge of Alec’s ear.

 

“Yes,” Alec whimpers when the Alpha swivels his hips so that Alec can feel the outline of Magnus’ cock in its entirety, thick and hot and burning and _delicious_. Alec’s throat tightens and he cants his hips upwards, slowly, shallowly, desperately.

 

 _Yes_ , says Alec, in the way that he steps out a little further, makes room for the breadth of Magnus’ hips to be bracketed snugly by Alec’s thighs; _oh please, yes_ , says Alec, in the way that he reaches up to grab two fistfuls of Magnus’ perfectly coiffed hair; and _a thousand times, yes_ , Alec answers, when he finally drags Magnus down for a filthy kiss.

 

Something honeyed and viscous pools in Alec’s chest, triggered by the way the Alpha’s mouth, which is hot and wet and open, kisses Alec with ferocity.

 

Now Alec moans, low and throaty, into Magnus’ lips, can’t help but thrust up reflexively when Magnus trails two fingers down Alec’s spine, gathers the material of Alec’s shirt at the base of his spine and ruck it up, exposing the warm skin there -- _so different now_ \--

 

A gasp forces its way from between Alec’s spit-covered lips when Magnus abruptly breaks the kiss to latch his mouth onto Alec’s neck. In response, Alec naturally tilts his chin back to expose the rosy skin of his throat; and Magnus _hums_ , lathering Alec’s skin with his wet tongue, working his lips and hinting with teeth --

 

Magnus swipes the pad of his thumb against the small of Alec’s back, calloused finger pushing at the dip in Alec’s spine there, before two fingers, cool and slender, slip underneath the waistband of Alec’s pants.

 

“You’re lovely, you know that?” Magnus murmurs against the skin of Alec’s neck. Every breath sends a shiver down Alec’s spine as the warm air dances against his wet skin.

 

Alec’s skin flushes thoroughly in response, receptive and sensitive to every touch. Alec can feel wetness pooling in his underwater, soaking the cotton material.

 

Magnus’ mouth sucks a bruise into the salty skin of Alec’s neck, right underneath his jaw, right above where his pulse throbs violently. At the same time, the Alpha’s fingers snag on the elastic material of Alec’s underwear and his pants.

 

His stomach coils tight and his insides writhe like a nest of snakes, tangling together, scales scratching roughly. There’s nothing to do now but to _feel_. The world is an ocean, threatening to drag Alec under every time Magnus curls his knuckles; there’s nothing to do but submerge his head underneath the tide of these -- these stimulations.

 

“ _Oh,_ ” Alec rasps, and he tightens his hand in Magnus’ hair, curls his toes in his shoes as Magnus’ fingers follow the dip of Alec’s back, down to the crease of his ass, “Oh God, Magnus, I -- ”

 

And Magnus’ dick still presses into Alec’s belly, warm and heavy, as Magnus leans impossibly closer, aligning their chests, their waists, their cocks, and sliding two fingers inside Alec without warning.

 

There’s an obscene squelch; Alec’s Omegan oils give easily, and Magnus slips in, two knuckles deep, his fingers cold and delicious against the heat-swollen tissues of Alec’s body. Magnus groans and Alec jerks further into Magnus’ touch reflexively.

 

There is something to be said about losing oneself; Alec imagines that this is him, right now, unanchored and untethered for the first time, drifting along with the current, drifting wherever it takes him, after years and years of plunging his feet into the ocean floor in an attempt to remain planted, stubborn against the sea.

 

“Oh,” Magnus whispers against Alec’s neck, “You beautiful thing.”

 

And there is something to be learned about the undulations of the current; what was it that old saying? Never underestimate nature and never turn your back to the ocean and all that --

 

“Magnus,” Alec hears himself rumble, “Magnus, I need you, right now -- ”

 

“Oh yes,” Magnus agrees, a little breathlessly, and when he pulls his fingers out of Alec, Alec whimpers at the loss. “Bed, I think,” Magnus breathes, still watching Alec as he slides those same two fingers _into his mouth_ and Alec’s knees feel weak.

 

Magnus pulls back abruptly.

 

The cold air rushes in to replace the warmth of his body; Alec blinks before staggering upright from where he’d been leaning against the handrail. Magnus is pushing open the door to his apartment and Alec’s blood still is boiling in his veins, his pulse racing and his entire body aching for his -- for an Alpha’s touch --

 

Alec knows the scent of Magnus like a shark knows blood.

 

The inside of Magnus’ apartment is cool and ornate, looks like it’s heavily decorated but Alec can’t take the time to appreciate its accoutrements because he’s practically barreling into Magnus, who walks backwards into an open door that leads to his bedroom; Alec wraps his hands around the back of Magnus’ neck, crashes their mouths together in a wet kiss.

 

“Mmph,” Magnus says, and then the Alpha complies beautifully, panting and kissing and arching up to meet Alec’s touch -- something warm and soft flares in Alec’s throat at this --

 

And then Alec walks forward, Magnus backward, until the backs of Magnus’ knees hit his mattress.

 

And then Alec pushes Magnus’ shoulders, the two of them falling onto the bed in a mélange of limbs and lust; and then Magnus reaches up to cup a palm around Alec’s chin and Alec hooks an ankle around Magnus’ leg, maneuvers them until Alec’s back hits the mattress and Magnus crawls over Alec’s body; and then --

 

Alec can’t stop looking at Magnus; the Alpha’s eyes are sultry, slightly narrowed and slightly teasing as if inviting a challenge, as if Alec weren’t --

 

“Still with me Alexander?” Magnus smiles, his breath hot against Alec’s lips.

 

“Yeah,” Alec breathes, looking up at Magnus still, “I am.”

 

Magnus’ lip curls upward, and he walks two fingers up Alec’s thigh, swaying his knuckles seductively until his fingers reach the collar of Alec’s shirt. Magnus hooks a finger into the neck of the shirt and drags. “Delightful,” he murmurs.

 

Magnus bends down to press his lips against the bulge of Alec’s collarbone, his breath billowing against Alec’s skin. Then Magnus rucks up Alec’s shirt, “Off,” he demands, and Alec responds automatically to the command, reaching out to help tug off the offending article of clothing.

 

As Magnus tugs off his shirt and pants, Alec has to stop everything else to drink him in, trailing his eyes over every curve, every dip, and every shadow as if he’d never seen another naked body before.

 

And then Magnus’ cock, hard and thick, hangs between his legs, and Alec blinks rapidly, attempts to close his mouth.

 

“Your turn,” smirks Magnus.

 

Magnus eagerly tugs on Alec’s pants, helping him shuck them off and toss them haphazardly across the room. Naked, Alec shifts slightly underneath Magnus’ heated stare, a look that screams, _mine_ , and, _now now now_ , and maybe _please_ \--

 

Under the weight of Magnus’ gaze and in the cool air of the room, goosebumps begin erupting on Alec’s legs; Alec’s cock drools on his belly and the insides of his thighs slip easily against each other, coated with slick.

 

“Oh darling,” murmurs Magnus. “Look at you.”

 

Alec pants heavily. His heart flutters with anticipation and his fingers tremble with uncertainty but he drags his ankles across the sheets and rolls over, onto his belly, pulls his knees up and situates himself on all fours.

 

“Alexander,” Magnus says, voice rough and cracked with desire.

 

“Come on, Magnus,” pleads Alec, pushing his knees apart until the sheets strain underneath his kneecaps, dipping his head down so he can feel the heavy gaze of Magnus on _him,_ curling his spine to -- to _present_ himself, in an imitation of lordosis behavior --

 

Magnus complies willingly.

 

The first two fingers slide in without a hitch, and Alec groans at the contact, thrusts backward to take _more_ , he has to take more, has to --

 

There is no use in fighting a rip current; Alec hangs in the balance now, gives in to every wave of pleasure that rolls through his body and savors it, relishes the warm flush as though he might never experience it again --

 

“Easy, easy,” Magnus runs a hand down Alec’s flank, drags his nails along the shadows of Alec’s ribs, teasing, gentle.

 

“Fuck, Magnus,” Alec breathes, digging his fingers into the sheets, practically kneading the mattress with his hands in anticipation. The muscles in Alec’s lower back and ass clench around Magnus’ fingers intuitively; the swollen tissue there gives easily under Magnus’ ministrations as the Alpha slips a third finger in. Alec has been loose and ready for a while but he still bites down on his lip to stop from crying out.

 

And then Magnus stretches his fingers out, a filthy squelch accompanying the movement, and Alec’s breath hitches. Sweat clumps Alec’s hair into strands that fall in fringes over his forehead but Alec does not _care_ ; he rocks back on his hands and knees, aching for more.

 

“Alec, please, Alec,” pants Magnus, his voice rough. _I did that_ , Alec thinks, blurrily remembers the distinct smoothness of the Alpha’s voice back at the club, _I did this to him_. “Turn around, my dear, let me -- ”

 

There’s a quiet rustle as Alec turns onto his side, and then onto his back.

 

A low rumble resonates in Magnus’ chest. “Oh, oh yes,” the Alpha observes, “That’s perfect Alec -- you’re -- _God_ , let me kiss you, please -- ”

 

Magnus’ face has gone dark with want: his cheeks are ruddy; his eyes, half-lidded, track Alec’s every move as Alec shifts his legs, allowing Magnus to crawl into the space between them; Magnus’ mouth opens noiselessly, his lips red and swollen, as he finally leans down to take Alec’s lips between his own.

 

The sheets rasp and scratch at the backs of Alec’s thighs, at the sensitive skin of his lower back, but he can’t bring himself to care. Alec whimpers faintly and then Magnus scoots closer, pulls at Alec’s thighs, and _oh_ , there’s Magnus’ cock; that’s going _inside_ of Alec --

 

Magnus’ scratchy voice curls Alec’s name into a pleasing sound, slightly lilting at the end, framing it as a question, as if Alec’s approval were all that Magnus wanted in the world, as if Alec’s reaction were the law and Magnus wanted to abide by every word: “Alexander?”

 

“Keep going,” Alec nods vigorously, “God, Magnus, I need -- ”

 

Magnus’ eyes are blown, his pupils fully dilated, and his gaze is intense as he looks at Alec. Vaguely, Alec feels one of Magnus’ hands wrapping around his thigh, and then there’s the blunt head of Magnus’ cock, pressing against Alec’s hole, and this is _happening_ , this is real and Alec’s heart bores a hole in his chest --

 

“Oh,” Alec says, his mouth forming the very same letter. Alec blinks.

 

And then his heat comes rushing back, with even more ferocity than before; Alec _burns_ with it -- this is why it’s called heat, Alec thinks dimly -- and this is nothing like he’s ever experienced before -- _how have I gone for so long without this?_

 

And Alec realizes that his mouth is moving; he’s babbling -- “Magnus, I need you, now, please, God, now now _now_ ,” -- and he feels delirious with want, the aching inside of his body is nearly painful, so different now than before, and Alec reaches forward, pulling at Magnus’ knees, the slippery skin of his thighs, _anything_ \--

 

Magnus’ cock stretches Alec until he feels feverishly, deliciously full, the supple flesh of Alec’s body easily giving way to the intrusion, until finally, _finally_ , Magnus sinks in deep.

 

It feels as though every pore in Alec’s body has saturated with Magnus’ scent -- with his pheromones -- as if Alec were arid dirt and Magnus’ very smell were autumn rain; Alec feels impossibly full, the fire in his belly finally mitigated, the itch of his skin finally scratched, the ache of his body finally eased.

 

“Alec,” Magnus murmurs, almost reverently. The Alpha hovers over Alec’s body, pulling at Alec’s hips so that Alec’s legs push up, press into his chest, and leans in close enough for Alec to detect the flecks of gold in his irises. “Are you -- are you alright? You’re -- ”

 

“Fine,” Alec growls, ignores the way his voice and his sides tremble with desire. Alec rolls his hips experimentally, and Magnus fucking _growls_ , his voice low and throaty and feral like he wants to mark Alec, claim Alec -- and fuck, that causes saliva to pool underneath Alec’s tongue. “Just _move_.”

 

Magnus complies without another word.

 

The Alpha’s hips snap like a whip, his cock sliding in and out, pumping ruthlessly. All around them, the sultry scent of Magnus’ virility presses down like a woolen coat, smothering Alec. Alec feels thoroughly full and thoroughly fucked; every single of Magnus’ thrusts sends a ripple of pleasure flitting up Alec’s spine.

 

_How have I gone for so long --_

 

And it isn’t perfect -- Alec’s back slips on the sweaty sheets with every movement, his hands scrabbling for purchase on the sheets; salty sweat drips into his eyes and stings; Magnus’ left knee can’t quite catch onto the mattress, he keeps having to readjust -- but it’s wholly _wonderful_. Alec’s throat sears with pleasure and some other, burning emotion he can’t name.

 

“Magnus,” Alec whimpers the name, and it almost comes out as a mewl. “God, Magnus, you’re so -- ”

 

“Fuck,” Magnus breathes, and the last shards of his composure melt under the nearly oppressive clouds of musk and pheromones and sex; Magnus’ mouth hangs open, jaw slack, and his expression pinches; his fingers press bruises into the skin of Alec’s thighs. “Alexander, you don’t know what you -- _ah_ ,” the bulge of his Adam’s apple bobs, “ -- what you _do_ to me.”

 

And somewhere in the back of Alec’s mind, a few thoughts pull together like fog pulls into clouds, but Magnus burns like the sun, burns all clouds away into dust; Alec can’t compose himself long enough to reply.

 

All he can think of is how _good_ this feels, his thoughts fragmented iterations of, _how could I have survived so many heats without this?_ or _want to keep him here forever, feels so good feels so full_ , and maybe _never going back ever again_ \--

 

Alec feels stretched out and thoroughly debauched. Precome and his body’s own slickness mix on the palette of Alec’s thighs, the sheets underneath his hips have become soaked with sweat and lubrication, and everything feels warm and cloyingly sticky -- but he can’t stop begging for more, the words falling from his lips in a slur; he can’t stop thrusting his hips upwards to meet Magnus, can’t stop the rush of desire that coils tight in his belly, twisting his insides.

 

Then, Magnus reaches down with one hand to wrap a loose hand around Alec’s dick; he tugs it a few times, wet and rough, and then Alec comes in a seething, humiliating rush -- as if he hadn’t even realized he was still hard, as if it were a surprise -- jaw slack and eyes wide open, reeling from the intensity of his orgasm.

 

Magnus fucks him through it and Alec clutches onto the sheets with his hands, knuckles white; Alec’s chest heaves and everything is sticky with pheromones; his body practically _thrums_ with energy and he clenches his thighs and his lower abdomen, squeezing around Magnus’ length --

 

“Alexander,” Magnus moans and Alec shivers at the way Magnus says his name.

 

The Alpha comes with a grunt, slamming his hips into Alec, his cock swelling. And then Alec feels something warm and filthy gushing into him. He never wants to let go of this kind of living -- the scent of rich pheromones, the taste of salty sex on his tongue, the touch, so so soft, so different from before --

 

“I -- ” Alec starts.

 

Magnus’ hips swivel once more before he finally slips out, a stream of white liquid following his flaccid cock. Alec’s heart hammers in his chest, he’s never --

 

“I’ve never done that before,” Alec admits, breathlessly, looking away from the stain on the sheets and up at Magnus’ face.

 

For a fraction of a second, Magnus’ eyes narrow and, momentarily, Alec wants to take back his words, pretend he hadn’t said anything --

 

But then Magnus lunges forward to kiss Alec forcefully, his hands cupping Alec’s face and his body molding against Alec’s chest.

 

“You were exquisite,” Magnus breathes when he finally pulls away, “Wonderful -- all mine.”

 

Alec agrees, but it’s the pheromones talking, it has to be. But even the heat can’t be responsible for the way that Alec hooks his ankle around Magnus’ calf, flipping them over and then maneuvering them to a strip of the sheets that hasn’t been soiled, the way that Alec presses his open mouth against Magnus’ pulse and breathing in the tantalizing scent of him there. “ _Yours_.”

 

And Magnus hums contentedly, reaches up to thread his fingers in Alec’s hair. With a satisfied “ _hm,”_ Alec -- there’s no other word for it -- _snuggles_ closer, ignoring the wet slick of his skin in favor of getting closer to Magnus. Alec positions his hips firmly between Magnus’ thighs, draping himself over Magnus’ chest. With every breath that Magnus takes, Alec’s chest and shoulders move with him, their flanks rising and falling in sync. It’s an instinctive, post-coital urge -- Magnus’ arm draped over Alec’s shoulder to protect his Omega after mating, Alec’s sudden need to be close to his Alpha -- Alec knows this, but he still gives in. Just this once, he thinks to himself. Just once, just to savor the smell the taste the touch.

 

It’s the position that he returns to even after they eventually untangle themselves to wash off in the spacious bathroom, when Magnus yanks the soiled sheets off the mattress and tosses them onto the floor; and it’s the position that Alec moves into as he falls asleep, his breaths rising and falling as the slopes of Magnus’ chest do.

 

Just this once.

 


	2. they got it twisted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually have no idea how the FBI, crime scenes, and investigations work, so please excuse any mistakes.

Sunlight wakes Alec.

 

He blinks open his eyes blearily. For a moment, he hangs between sleep and wakefulness, before slipping into the latter with a soft groan.

 

His first reaction is to wince. As he shifts, the skin of his knees, rough and raw, scrape against soft bed sheets. His head pounds and his throat feels hoarse and raspy; the muscles of his thighs and his stomach scream in pain when he sits up. Alec blinks again, and sharp, warm sunlight slashes into his eyes.

 

With a jolt, he remembers that he is in Magnus’ apartment.

 

His second reaction is to bite his lip in embarrassment, cheeks reddening with humiliation. It feels a bit like being hungover -- Alec’s eyelids feel impossibly heavy and his skull literally feels like it’s clenching his brain, pinching inwards without mercy -- except Alec knows that these are the consequences of taking the pill yesterday.

 

Alec remembers yesterday with abrupt clarity: he remembers begging for it, nearly groveling for Magnus. And he remembers arching up his spine, presenting himself so willingly. The mere thought of it makes Alec flush hotly.

 

When Alec manages a cough, it sounds raspy and hollow, echoing off ornate tapestries that cover dark walls and catching in the well of fabric where Magnus’ velvety curtain pools around the edges of his window.

 

Alec pushes the covers off before he can stop to relish the wonderful way Magnus’ mattress curves perfectly around his spine in the same way a hand curves perfectly around a hipbone. With no lack of embarrassment, he swipes his pants from where they’re discarded on the floor and pulls them on as he walks into the bathroom.

 

He washes up quickly, splashing cold water on his face in attempt to assuage his throbbing headache. He feels like an intruder when he wipes his face on a fluffy white towel. His mouth is dry.

 

 _Control_ , Alec tells himself, clenching his hands into fists and digging his nails into the towel. It gives easily under his grip.

 

He is in, essentially, a stranger’s apartment. He does not know Magnus -- for fuck’s sake, he doesn’t even know the man’s last name. He has a horrible headache. He needs to get back home.

 

Snatching up his shirt from a nearby ottoman -- and how it got there, Alec doesn’t remember -- Alec stalks from Magnus’ bedroom, keeps his spine straight and his expression clear, refuses to give in.

 

Stubborn, his sister would say.

 

Down the hallway Alec walks, barely paying any attention to the lavish accoutrements of the house, display tables set up nicely along the dark red carpet, holding up exotic vases and stone relics.

 

“Good morning, Alexander,” wafts through the hallway before Alec turns into the kitchen.

 

There stands Magnus, already awake and looking perfectly put-together -- Alec belatedly realizes that his hair probably is an unruly mess -- slicing bagels open on what looks to be a wooden cutting board.

 

“Hey,” Alec attempts, but his voice cracks, and Christ, that’s humiliating. The memories from last night decide to swirl back once more -- the soft slip of Magnus’ fingers at the base of Alec’s spine, the heady scent of sex, the lovely flush of Magnus’ skin -- and Alec practically feels himself blushing.

 

Magnus quirks his lips, looks up to fix his gaze intently on Alec.

 

“I don’t,” Alec begins abruptly, before realizing that he doesn’t know what he wants to say.

 

The whole situation feels a bit unreal: sunlight spills gently into the kitchen, pooling on wooden chairs and the countertop that Magnus leans against; through the window, Alec sees the hazy shadow of the New York cityscape; a pan on the stove cracks with oil. Alec forces himself to look back at Magnus.

 

“I don’t normally do,” Alec looks away, “ _This_.” He sweeps his hand, gesturing to the kitchen and the sun and the sky and to Magnus in an all-encompassing movement.

 

The sound of metal against wood stops. Magnus leans against the counter, his expression thoughtful.

 

Then Alec proceeds to rectify that statement. “I mean, I don’t do this at all, I’ve never -- ”

 

Alec trails off, and looks pointedly in another direction, shoves his hands roughly into his pockets. He feels a bit like drowning; he has no idea what to say, he has no idea what to do, he’s never --

 

“Last night was -- was an exception,” Alec blurts out. His throat hurts. It’s easier to look at the wall than at Magnus. “I just don’t do -- these kinds of things, normally.” Alec is running out of things to say; his words sound weak in the morning air. “I just wanted to clarify,” Alec’s stomach churns but he manages to glance at Magnus. The man watches him with his head slightly tilted, expression impassive. “I’m not -- I just wanted to make sure that you know I’m not looking for -- ”

 

“No,” Magnus says quickly, looking down at his bagels once more. “Neither am I.”

 

Alec stands there stupidly, staring out the window. He doesn’t know what to say.

 

Through the window, the sky sighs, her breath coiling through the city, thick and foggy.

 

“Nevertheless,” Magnus interrupts the silence, and Alec has to stop from sighing in relief. “I do hope you enjoyed yourself anyway,” the man purrs and Alec can’t bring himself to look at the other man -- he’s not quite sure why.

 

“No, yeah,” Alec licks his lips, willing his blush away. He’s going to talk about this like an _adult_ , goddammit, “I did, thank you, I -- ” Alec clears his throat. Is that right? Is he supposed to thank his one-night-stand? Alec pulls his hands out of his pockets and immediately regrets it. His arms hang by his sides and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

 

“And I, you,” Magnus replies easily, catching Alec’s eye and smirking. Magnus opens a drawer and pulls out cream cheese. “Bagel?” he asks, calmly, smoothly.

 

Alec struggles not to show his surprise. “Sure.”

 

“Your sister’s not worried,” asks Magnus casually, and although it isn’t phrased like a question, it’s clear that Magnus expects an answer nonetheless.

 

“She can deal with it,” Alec says roughly, coming over to perch on a stool by the countertop. Magnus slides him a plate with a bagel and the whole thing feels completely absurd -- Alec shouldn’t be sitting here, in this beautiful apartment where sunlight covers everything like a filter, chatting with Magnus -- but his head aches and his stomach curls with the beginnings of hunger.

 

_Just this once._

 

Magnus hums in agreement, all but twirls around to bend over and pull something from the fridge behind him. Alec jerks his gaze back to his bagel and begins spreading his cream cheese roughly.

 

“Salmon?” asks Magnus. Even with his headache, Alec feels more lucid than he has in days. His head is clear, free from the lazy tendrils of heat.

 

“I’m fine,” Alec says.

 

In his pocket, Alec’s phone buzzes. He plops his bagel back down on the plate and sighs, rubbing his face with his palms.

 

“My whole life,” Alec starts, and the words feel familiar in his mouth, as though he’s said them before but can’t seem to remember. “I’ve followed the rules. I’ve worked hard.” Alec can feel the weight of Magnus’ gaze on him and Alec continues. “I’ve done everything they asked and -- ”

 

Alec breaks off, shakes his head, and picks up his bagel. He didn’t mean to say that. “I can’t believe I’m telling you this.” Alec shakes his head again. He doesn’t mean to be here, standing in Magnus’ kitchen at nine in the morning, talking on about his life problems, but there’s something about the way Magnus leans forward, his entire body open in an invitation, waiting to cling onto every single one of Alec’s words.

 

“Maybe you should start living for yourself,” the Alpha muses. He picks up something that looks like salmon and puts it on his bagel.

 

“I took two pills yesterday,” Alec stares blankly at his plate, runs his thumb along its ceramic edge. “I knew I shouldn’t have, but I did.”

 

“And why did you?” Magnus asks, perfectly on time, as he puts his bagel together interestedly.

 

Alec bites out, “I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking straight, and my family -- we’ve been working on this, this project, for a while. It means everything to them -- to Izzy.”

 

He taps his ring finger on the stone counter, irritated. Magnus takes a bite of his bagel.

 

“And now I have to go back and get Izzy out of this mess.” Alec exhales. For a second, he forgets who he is with; Alec loses himself in his train of thought, wishes that he weren’t an Omega who has to deal with this -- this _inconvenience_ \--

 

“Alec,” begins Magnus, so quietly Alec almost misses it, just as Alec stands up abruptly.

 

“Not even going to kiss me goodbye?” Magnus singsongs, his tone switching in a heartbeat.

 

“Thank you,” Alec says. “For -- for everything.”

 

Magnus sways around the counter, and Alec can’t move, can’t stop looking at Magnus. Abruptly, Alec realizes he doesn’t want to.

 

The realization hits him sharply and it feels like a sting right in the gut.

 

Magnus sighs dramatically. “No number, no last name. You’re going for the mysterious thing, aren’t you?”

 

And Alec is lucid; his head is clearer than it has been for days, and he’s finally free from the last throes of heat, so there’s really no excuse. When Magnus tilts his lips and holds out his phone, Alec shouldn’t take it, shouldn’t put in his name, much less his number.

 

But he does.

 

Magnus’ phone is cold to the touch, so Alec types out his contact information quickly, his heart pounding all the while.

 

“I’ll call you sometime,” Magnus smiles, small and genuine, and Alec can’t help but quirk his lips up in return.

 

“Sure,” he says.

 

\--

 

The ride back home is quiet.

 

Alec sticks his hand out for a cab and clambers in with a quiet hello. His chest feels lighter somehow, although he isn’t sure if it’s because he got laid or he finally said the words that had rested underneath his tongue for so long.

 

Outside of the taxi window, the sky yawns, her clouds fat and milky with the last dregs of sleep.

 

Finally, Alec pulls his phone out of his pocket. He taps the home button. There’re two text messages from Izzy, but Alec stows his phone away and doesn’t check them.

 

By the time Alec overtips the driver on a whim, exits the cab, and plants two feet firmly on the pavement outside of the apartment, warm sunlight shoves aside the clouds, glinting off of passing cars, tinted windows, and the pavement.

 

He takes the stairs up two at a time, brushing his thumb over the key in his pocket.

 

Inside, someone has left the window in the kitchen open. The wind wafts in curiously, bringing in the sounds of traffic and conversation from below, lifting the edges of the curtain and ruffling the corners of a stack of papers; the sounds layer on top of each other in an urban symphony.

 

Alec toes off his shoes and leaves them by the door, padding silently into the hallway. He’s halfway to his room when something creaks. Instinctively, Alec spins around, just in time to see a whirl of black leather and red lipstick before Isabelle strides down the hallway, her mouth set in a determined line.

 

“Sorry,” Alec begins, mentally preparing himself for an onslaught of her worry, “I meant to call -- ”

 

What Alec doesn’t expect Izzy to do is what she actually does.

 

She walks up, close, and wraps her arms around his waist, her grip strong and determined.

 

“I -- ” Alec begins, and Isabelle squeezes him tighter, tucking her head underneath her chin as if she were six years old again, asking Alec to hold her after a nightmare; as if she wanted nothing more than to apologize.

 

“I was worried for you,” she says, voice muffled slightly. Her breath is hot against the material of Alec’s shirt.

 

“You’re not at work,” Alec realizes, belatedly. Isabelle buries her nose into the dip of Alec’s neck in lieu of a response.

 

And Alec hesitates for a moment more before giving in, loosening the muscles in his arms from where he held them stiff, and pulling Isabelle in for a hug. Even though he’s out of heat, the smell of Izzy is still recognizable and comforting; Alec breathes in her scent like how a snake scents the air for warmth.

 

They stay there for a long while, as if it were years since the last time they hugged, until Alec pulls away, retracting his arms awkwardly.

 

“Look, you have to get to work,” Alec begins, “I don’t want to keep you.”

 

Isabelle frowns, shakes her head. “It’s bad, Alec. I went with Mike yesterday and there’s -- there’s so much more than there was on the file,” she begins pacing, and Alec opens the door to his room. “There was a deal.”

 

Alec frowns and Isabelle plops onto the foot of Alec’s bed. “I didn’t see much -- I only overheard them talking about it, but we went into the back and it was just another part of the club -- it was a smaller lounge, kind of like a hookah bar.” She presses her lips together, narrowing her eyes.

 

“The faces look familiar -- I’m almost certain they were all on the file. There was one guy that they kept talking about but he wasn’t there -- Magnus -- but other than that, I could recognize most of them -- ”

 

“Magnus?” Alec’s frown deepens.

 

“Magnus Bane,” Izzy looks at Alec, “The owner of Pandemonium.”

 

A series of images leaps to the forefront of Alec’s thoughts: the Alpha leaning against the bathroom wall, crossing his legs at his ankles casually like he owns the place; _they’re regulars_ , Magnus had said, _there’s an exit leading to a complex behind the club;_ a second, shrouded exit at the back of the dark hallway.

 

“There’s something about it -- there’s a girl, her name is Clary, I think, involved in the deal who wasn’t on the file -- Alec, are you listening?”

 

“Go to the agent in charge of the case,” Alec turns his head away from Izzy, his words clear and legato, “Tell her what’s going on and stop involving yourself before this problem spirals out of our hands.”

 

“There’s no way the Bureau would get this kind of information,” Izzy shifts to catch Alec’s eye, “This -- this undercover work, it’s more than the Bureau can ever hope for.”

 

“We shouldn’t be involved in this,” Alec says, but he’s still caught on the fact that Magnus _owns_ Pandemonium.

 

“They’re storing some stuff on the deep web, money probably, and they’re selling -- I don’t know what, it wasn’t on the file,” she narrows her eyes, “But they’re trying to pay off a debt, or something like that, and that definitely wasn’t on the file. The girl, there’s something about her, she seems like she doesn’t want to be there.” Izzy lets out a long breath, a fermata in her arpeggio of words. “This is something we can _do_ , Alec. We can _help_.”

 

Free from the iron grip of his heat, Alec realizes how much he’s missed, how much time he’s spent at work with his eyes staring, unseeing and glazed over, at his computer. Izzy’s been doing work, Alec can appreciate that at least.

 

He huffs out a staccato breath.

 

Then, “And Alec,” she says, before his thoughts wander far, “About last night, I just wanted to apologize -- ”

 

“Izzy,” Alec interrupts abruptly, turning to look at her with a grim stare, “Leave it.” He’s not sure if he interrupts her because he already knows what she’ll say or because he knows he won’t listen.

 

Isabelle thins her lips into a flat line. “I was -- ”

 

“Leave it,” repeats Alec, voice gruff.

 

And she leaves it.

 

“Head to work,” he says, a heartbeat after that. Outside, the sound of traffic crescendos in a swell. “I’ll be right there.”

 

And there’s something hesitant in Izzy’s posture, something written into the line of her spine or the set of her shoulders that itches underneath Alec’s skin; it feels strange seeing her hesitate like this.

 

“Go,” he repeats.

 

And she goes, but not without a backward glance.

 

Just that morning, Alec, lucid and sober, had stood no more than four blocks away from his apartment, lamenting his deepest worries to a virtual stranger in a beautiful, sunlit kitchen. And now, Alec, after hearing the telltale click of the front door shutting, strides over to his computer and presses the power button forcefully.

 

He pulls up a search engine and his fingers tap against the keyboard quickly as if he were playing an impromptu, the sharp clicks mixing into a medley of traffic and wind.

 

His pinky hovers over the enter key for a brief moment, as if Alec were playing a well-tempered clavier and this were his final chord, his last note -- a brief moment of hesitation before the end, an unexpected fermata before the final half of a harmonic cadence.

 

 _Magnus Bane_ , the search bar reads.

 

He presses enter.

\--

 

Alec takes a cab to Federal Plaza. Clouds unfurl teasingly against the windows and Alec stares at them unseeing.

 

He strides into the building without thinking about it, his mind teeming, and maybe someone greets him with a ‘good morning,’ but Alec doesn’t hear it; he heads straight towards a computer, logging in and pulling up a file without so much as a glance anywhere else.

 

The investigation is only in its assessment stage as of now, headed by an Agent Fisk for thirty days until the investigation is to be renewed by Supervisory Special Agent Vargas. Its main objective is to investigate the activities of three suspects regarding money laundering.

 

Alec skims the file -- there are the three main suspects, the ones Alec saw at Pandemonium, legally monitored by two informants; there’s been searches in government databases, the histories of all three suspects and their financial records, all recorded and logged in the file -- but only finds Magnus’ name once: along with several other clubs, grocery stores, and cafes, Pandemonium is listed in a column underneath the activity log. The font is Times New Roman, just like the rest of the file, but for some reason, the name leaps out at Alec -- Magnus Bane, in twelve pica, Times New Roman, bold against the white document.

 

Alec’s gaze skips to the list of suspects: Marc Podlipsky, Nadira Nelson, Minji Ahn, Mike Kreger. Only four names. Something tight unwinds in Alec’s chest, but Alec isn’t sure if the unfurling of anticipation or the quiet hiss of relief lessens the storm of thoughts and worry in his head.

 

Underneath the suspect names, a series of strings of digits is printed: credit card and bank account numbers, all tracked. Alec worries his bottom lip between his teeth.

 

In a new window, Alec opens up his email and clicks compose. He taps out a greeting quickly, copy-and-pastes Fisk’s email into the blank space. Within three minutes, he has his email written. He presses send.

 

Then he closes the file, pushes all thoughts of Magnus and Pandemonium to the side, and tries to get back to work.

 

\--

 

The days fly by.

 

With his head finally clear and free from distractions, Alec dives back into the work -- not necessarily The Case, which has been dubbed so with capital letters to distinguish it from the other ten cases Alec is currently working on, but work in general.

 

Alec compartmentalizes, does not think of Magnus, forces himself to delve back into the work.

 

And it’s fine. It works. It’s never easy, but it works.

 

That is, until about a week after that sunlit morning in Magnus’ apartment, when Alec wakes up on a Saturday evening to the sound of his phone ringing.

 

“Alec!” hollers Izzy from across the hallway. “Pick up your phone!”

 

Alec’s fingers stumble across the hill of his pillow, the valleys in his bedsheets, across the desert of his nightstand, only to find smooth wood and no cell phone.

 

Alec groans lowly, blinking open his eyes slowly. His clock reads 8:32 PM; his afternoon nap lasted much longer than he intended.

 

“Alec!” she repeats.

 

It takes a not inconsiderable amount of energy to pull himself out of bed. Outside of the warm sheets, the cold air claims Alec’s fingers and toes, clamps down tight on his nose and refuses to let go. By the time he’s meandered into the kitchen, Izzy’s already there, holding out Alec’s vibrating phone in one hand and tapping her own phone with the other. City lights reflect off the dark kitchen windows.

 

Alec briefly registers the unknown number before pressing the green button to pick up the call. “Hello?” he rasps, his voice still hoarse with sleep.

 

“Hello, stranger,” purrs the voice smoothly and Alec spins around so Izzy won’t see the blush that suddenly rises in his cheeks.

 

“Magnus?” Alec asks, very much awake now. The sound of Izzy tapping on her phone suddenly stops. Silence rings in the kitchen.

 

“Were you expecting someone else?” Magnus asks nonchalantly. “Any other handsome Alphas lined up on voicemail?”

 

Alec licks his lips. “You know there’s no one -- ” he breaks off, suddenly aware of his sister’s presence. “Did you need something?”

 

“Stop by the club tonight,” Magnus singsongs, not _my_ club, but _the_ club, “And you can find out. There’s going to be a party tonight and I was hoping you’d come.”

 

“I’m not looking for -- ” Alec begins, resolutely does not turn around, even though he can practically feel Izzy’s curious gaze on his back.

 

“Oh I know,” Magnus says quickly, “No obligations or anything, just a chance for you to get out and have fun, Alexander.”

 

Alec’s name curls in Magnus’ mouth, warmed by his tongue; it’s intimate and provocative and wonderfully thrilling to hear Magnus say Alec’s name like that.

 

Alec turns around.

 

“What time,” he manages, and thankfully his voice remains steady.

 

Isabelle looks at him intently, her eyes dark and unreadable.

 

“Nine,” Magnus replies promptly.

 

“We’ll see,” offers Alec steadily, despite the knot that tightens in his belly.

 

“I hope to see you there, Alexander,” says Magnus. Alec wonders where Magnus is. Maybe the Alpha stands in his clean kitchen, rolling the rim of an empty champagne glass between his fingers.

 

Alec swallows. “Right,” he says, and now he’s thinking of Magnus’ hands, his fingers, worn and calloused and slender, “You too,” he adds dumbly.

 

“Well,” Magnus draws out the word, and now Alec can imagine the wet curl of his tongue around the word and his breath hitches, “Goodbye then, Alec.”

 

“Bye,” Alec says, hangs up the phone.

 

“So,” Isabelle sways around the countertop, leaning against the granite top and looking up at Alec, “Magnus Bane.”

 

“I met him the other night,” Alec says, looking down to the phone call. 32 seconds long.

 

“Uh-huh. So why’s he calling you?”

 

Alec adds the number to a new contact. “Apparently he’s throwing a party tonight. Pandemonium,” Alec adds, before Izzy can ask.

 

Isabelle begins to speak but Alec talks over her, looking over the crown of her head in a way that he knows annoys her, “Get your stuff.”

 

“What?” she frowns, clearly surprised at the change in subject.

 

“You heard me,” Alec says, clicks his phone off and slides it into the pocket of his sweatpants. “We’re going out tonight.”

 

“But,” she begins, face frowning with bemusement.

 

“I’ll explain afterwards,” Alec says. He rubs his eyes tiredly. “I’ll be ready in five minutes. Call a taxi.”

 

“Where are we going?” asks Isabelle, even though she already knows the answer.

 

Alec replies, “Pandemonium.”

 

 --

 

The club’s already packed by the time Alec and Izzy arrive.

 

It’s the same club -- same flashing lights and curling smoke and dancing shadows -- but it’s a little different. In the air, the pheromones are no longer suppressive and thick; the music doesn’t throb in Alec’s ear and the smoke doesn’t clog his throat.

 

“They’re already in the back,” Izzy all but yells, right into Alec’s ear.

 

“Get a drink first,” he says back, holding onto the jut of her elbow to make sure that he won’t lose her in the crowd, “Don’t make it seem like you came just for them.”

 

She nods, leading the two of them to the bar.

 

Tonight, the entire club thrums with warm energy; it pulses in Alec’s veins, hums underneath his skin, echoes in his chest. The Beta girl is back, smiling warmly at the Lightwood siblings and sliding two drinks across the counter at them before turning away to tend to someone else. Alec turns a little in his chair so his chest faces Izzy and his back is turned to the rest of the club.

 

As he picks up his drink, Alec mutters lowly, “Didn’t think I’d ever be back here.”

 

But Isabelle hears it. Her lips begin to form a question when someone appears by Alec’s side.

 

“Hello Alexander,” a voice purrs, lips brushing against the shell of his ear before pulling back.

 

A jolt of heat rushes through Alec’s limbs.

 

Magnus stands close, close enough for Alec to catch that scent of earthiness and musk, one hand on the counter and the other dancing up Alec’s spine where Izzy can’t see; he stands between Alec and the bar, facing Izzy.

 

“So,” Magnus says cheerfully, as Izzy stares, “Going to introduce us, Alec?”

 

“Oh,” Alec says, still caught on the tantalizing trace of Magnus’ nail up his back, “Magnus, this is my sister, Isabelle. Izzy, this is Magnus.”

 

“Nice to meet you, Izzy,” Magnus proffers his right hand, leaning in. At the same time, Magnus’ left hand flattens against Alec’s back, warm and decisive.

 

“And you,” Alec thinks his sister replies, but he suddenly becomes cognizant of how Magnus stands so close, his flank pressed against Alec’s shoulder, his scent in Alec’s lungs.

 

“I think Nadira was looking for you, actually,” Magnus says, his voice carrying easily over the din. Alec feels his stomach clench, as if he were anticipating the weight of Magnus’ body pressed up against his own; as if Alec were waiting for Magnus’ hand to trail lower -- like it did in the stairwell of this very building -- slide past the elastic of Alec’s waistband and dip down, the pads of his fingers kissing the skin there.

 

“Oh, right,” says Izzy. It feels as though everything were underwater except for Magnus; the rest of the club seems to blur with smoke and everything fades, save for the touch of Magnus’ palm against his back, the scent of his breath in the air. “I’ll head back then,” she says and then she’s leaving, she’s getting up and putting her drink on the bar, smiling at Alec; Alec isn’t in heat anymore, he isn’t supposed to fill with this nervous energy, this gut-clenching, roiling energy --

 

“See you Alec,” she says, the corners of her lips pulling up, and then she’s gone, her seat empty.

 

Magnus moves quickly. His hand drops from Alec’s back as he slides into Izzy’s seat, quirking two fingers at the bartender.

 

“You own the club,” Alec blurts out, dragging his eyes away from the slender shape of Magnus’ fingers. The music pounds loudly and someone bumps into Alec from behind.

 

“I do,” Magnus turns away from the bartender and toward Alec instead, “Which means you,” Magnus’ lips curl, “Get free drinks for the rest of the night.”

 

And Magnus winks so flirtatiously that Alec has to remind himself that he’s not looking for a relationship, he isn’t in need of an Alpha and he definitely did not plan on seeing Magnus again the first night he met him.

 

“I just -- ” Alec begins, but the bass thumps so loudly it’s hard to hear what he says. The Beta places two cold drinks on the bar and Alec snatches his.

 

Magnus thanks her, then picks up his own drink. “Come on,” he nods to Alec, “There’s a quiet corner in the back.”

 

Alec hesitates for a moment before following Magnus further into the club.

 

They end up walking into a room -- or rather, half a room. The walls only come up halfway to the ceiling, stopping around Alec’s stomach to form a counter of sorts, and there’s no door, only a large gap where a door should be. Alec obediently follows Magnus, stepping through the smoky air.

 

A large couch sits at the back of the room, and a few people loiter in the corner, but it’s much quieter here, sheltered off from the music and the heat of the club.

 

“I know you’re not looking for anything serious,” Magnus murmurs, stepping close to Alec, and there’s that scent again -- earthy cinnamon and musk and _Alpha_ \-- “But that doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun in your life.”

 

Alec turns slightly to look at Magnus. The Alpha’s eyes are bright, and Alec feels a slight thrill when he realizes the height difference between them.

 

 _Maybe you should start living for yourself_ , Magnus had said.

 

“And you,” Alec remembers it’s his turn to speak, phrasing the word half as a question, half as a statement. “You would give that to me.”

 

“Oh,” Magnus steps in, and Alec can _feel_ the heat radiating off of him, “Alexander.”

 

Alec chooses then to look down at Magnus’ mouth, which is soft and pink, and when he looks back up, Magnus’ eyes are half-lidded.

 

Alec isn’t looking for anything; he doesn’t need an Alpha --

 

Magnus chooses then to reach out with one hand, tracing a finger carelessly on the skin of Alec’s collarbone and -- and Alec’s out of heat now, he feels sober and feels everything clearly now -- it’s _delicious_ , sparks a curl of heat in Alec’s belly.

 

And when Magnus brushes his thumb against Alec’s pulse, slow and erotic, Alec can’t help but lick his lips. He feels a little dizzy.

 

“There are so many things I want to give to you,” Magnus says, looking at Alec steadily.

 

And Alec wants to feel; he wants to take, he wants to live his own life.

 

So Alec pulls Magnus to the couch, pushes the Alpha onto it. Magnus gives without so much as a blink, plopping easily onto the couch, head tipped back in a wonderful display of submission to look at Alec.

 

Alec doesn’t need an Alpha --

 

And Alec leans in slowly, on knee propped up on the cushion beside Magnus’ thigh, the other foot planted firmly on the floor between Magnus’ legs. Alec reaches up to clutch the back of the couch with one hand, effectively trapping Magnus with his body. This close, Alec can see individual flecks of glitter on Magnus’ cheeks. There are people around and Alec does not care.

 

“And will you let me take them?” Alec asks, his voice rough and low.

 

Magnus doesn’t hesitate. “All of them.”

 

Alec leans in further, but slowly, so so slowly, leans in until their noses nearly touch and until Alec can see every individual fleck of glitter on Magnus’ cheeks and until Alec can feel Magnus’ breath on his lips, hot and provocative, so close but not touching, no, never touching --

 

Magnus lies there, waiting, his eyes dark and his expression unreadable, head tipped up to reveal a gorgeous stretch of his bare neck, head tipped up to look at Alec, to wait for Alec, to kiss Alec.

 

The heady scent of Magnus fills Alec’s lungs -- Alec knows the scent of this Alpha like a shark knows blood -- and Alec feels himself _thrum_ with energy and anticipation; his blood courses hot through his veins, and this is so different from before. They’ve been here, yes, close enough to touch, close enough to smell and to feel, but not like this; not like Magnus waiting for Alec to make the first move, not like Alec taking whatever Magnus has to give.

 

And yes, it feels intoxicating, but it also feels like relief -- Magnus will sit on this couch, unmoving, head tilted back, waiting for Alec. It feels like a gasp of cold air after a summer of heat; it feels like _liberation_.

 

Alec doesn’t need an Alpha, but he wants one -- he wants wants wants like he never has before --

 

So he leans in, closes his eyes, and presses his lips against Magnus’ mouth in a warm kiss.

 

And Magnus yields easily, his back arching off the couch to meet Alec’s touch, his mouth warm and soft underneath Alec’s.

 

Where their last time together was hot and rushed and slick, this time Magnus’ skin -- the skin of his jaw and the skin of his cheek -- is cool to the touch, cool underneath Alec’s wandering fingers. And this time, there’s something electric in the air, something different and something charged. There’s a certain degree of hesitation on Alec’s part -- a few seconds of their lips pressing chastely together and then Alec pulls back, not very far, but enough to break their kiss.

 

“You can take,” Magnus breathes, his hands still by his sides; the only visible change in Magnus after their kiss is the dilation of his pupils, “You can take whatever you want, Alexander.”

 

“I don’t want -- ” Alec begins, then breaks off to shift slightly, drawing his knee closer to Magnus’ thigh, bringing his entire body further onto the couch, closer to Magnus. Alec licks his lips and doesn’t look away from the lovely pink curves of Magnus’ mouth. “I don’t want much.”

 

“We don’t have to do anything,” Magnus replies smoothly, as if Magnus hadn’t ravished Alec in a stairwell before, as if Alec hadn’t begged and whined and moaned for Magnus like a bitch in heat a mere week ago.

 

And as Alec leans in to kiss Magnus once more, he realizes that this is not the heated throes of a heat; this is not hormone-induced, irrational, on-a-whim thinking; this is different and this is _better_. Without the clouds heat-induced pheromones hanging over him, Alec feels _everything_ ; everything is raw and unfiltered and Alec revels in it.

 

When he cups his palm against Magnus’ bare neck; Magnus’ skin flushes in response and his pulse quickens underneath Alec’s touch, Alec can feel it.

 

From somewhere behind him, a club patron shouts something particularly loudly, over the din of music and dancing; the words are indistinguishable, but Alec breaks the kiss for the second time nonetheless. His cheeks heat up. He had forgotten that they were in the club.

 

“Alright?” Magnus asks, his eyes searching.

 

“Fine,” Alec says, but he straightens his spine and releases his grip on the back of the sofa, pulling back to stand on his own two feet.

 

There’s a moment, as Alec turns away, walking toward his drink from where it sits on top of the counter that the half-wall forms. He expects a sudden rush of air and a pair of hands on his waist; he isn’t sure why, but there’s a curl of surprise in Alec’s stomach when Magnus simply walks up to get his own drink.

 

From where Alec stands and sips at his drink, he can see the rest of the club: bodies, packed onto the dance floor, sway in time with the rhythm of the loud music while others loiter by the bar. Glitter sparkles on the floor and light reflect off of flash tats, and the walls of Pandemonium seem to be pulsing with energy.

 

“Crazy, isn’t it?” Magnus observes, coming up to stand by Alec, drink in hand.

 

“You know,” Alec starts, and he isn’t sure why he’s making small talk right now, but it feels -- it feels right, so he keeps talking, “This was the first club I’ve ever been to.”

 

At that, Magnus turns to face Alec. “So the first night I met you -- ”

 

“First time I ever went to a club,” Alec grimaces, taking another swing from his drink.

 

With a smirk, Magnus asks, “How was it?”

 

Alec winces when the alcohol burns his throat. “I think I like it better when I’m not drugged up with suppressants.”

 

“About that,” Magnus’ face grows solemn, “I don’t think -- ”

 

“I know,” Alec gets out before the Alpha can continue, “I don’t normally take them irregularly, I just -- ” Alec shakes his head, “I wasn’t thinking straight and -- and it was an exception.”

 

“I hope you didn’t regret the time we spent together,” Magnus raises an eyebrow, as he sips delicately from his glass.

 

His cheeks flush, and Alec replies, “You know I didn’t, I just -- ” Alec licks his lips and looks away. “My sister needed -- wanted to come here that night last week, and -- and I didn’t want her to go alone, so,” he breaks off.

 

“I see,” Magnus says, turning back to look at the club, and Alec knows that the Alpha wants to ask more, Alec can practically feel the curiosity in his gaze, but thankfully Magnus refrains from any other questions.

 

“In a way,” Alec begins, “I wanted to come here that night too, when I -- when I was in heat.” Alec pauses, unsure of how to continue. “My whole life, I’ve had to fight this, this stigma of being an Omega -- I have to work harder and I have to work longer and I,” Alec breathes out, and feels something release in his chest, “I was just tired of that. And I wanted to show them that I could still get out there and -- ” _And solve a case_ , Alec almost says, but catches himself, “ -- live my normal life.” Alec smiles self-deprecatingly. “And then I met you instead.”

 

“Then prove them wrong,” Magnus says, still turned toward the club so Alec can only stare at Magnus’ profile.

 

“I -- what?”

 

Magnus’ shoulders lift and fall in an artful shrug. He turns, and shamelessly rakes his eyes over Alec’s form admiringly -- deep deep inside of him, Alec feels a flare of pleasure at this -- before repeating, “Prove them wrong.”

 

Alec clears his throat. “What do you mean?”

 

Magnus hums. “I don’t know what you do for a living,” he begins, and when Alec begins to open his mouth, Magnus continues, “And if you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to, but you’re an Omega.” Magnus reaches out and brushes glitter from Alec’s collarbone; warmth floods Alec’s stomach and he feels his dick twitch in interest. Alec swallows thickly and resolutely ignores his body’s reaction to his proximity to Magnus.

 

“You’re an Omega,” Magnus repeats, his words solemn, but looks up through his eyelashes for a moment as if to say, _and I know this_ , as if to say, _and I love it._ “And they resent you for it,” Magnus continues, and the intensity of his gaze is lost as he continues, “So imagine how they would feel, if you, an Omega,” and the way Magnus says _Omega_ curls Alec’s toes -- Magnus says it almost reverently, as if he couldn’t believe how lucky he were, as if he had never met another Omega before -- “Outdid them.”

 

Magnus places his glass down on the counter. “Imagine how they would feel if you were better than them, and you knew it, and then you flaunt it in their faces -- don’t let them forget, Alexander, who you are.”

 

At Magnus’ words, a sense of vindication mounts in Alec. He purses his lips. “Maybe,” he says carefully.

 

Then, casually, Magnus asks, “Is your sister going to be finished anytime soon?”

 

“Why?” Alec asks immediately, although a smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

 

“You wanna get out of here?” Magnus deadpans, although his eyes shine with mirth.

 

\--

 

Clean and ornate, flamboyant and spacious, Magnus’ apartment is just as extravagant as Alec remembers.

 

“Another drink?” calls Magnus, disappearing into the kitchen.

 

“I’m fine, thank you,” Alec says.

 

When Magnus walks out of the kitchen, he carries two glasses of wine in hand. Alec has taken a seat on Magnus’ plush couch and rises awkwardly to take one glass.

 

“Thanks,” Alec says.

 

Magnus hums in response, sitting next to Alec on the couch easily.

 

For a moment, Alec hesitates. Should he say something? Comment on the interior decor?

 

Thankfully, Magnus speaks a few seconds later. “I hope next time I won’t have to use a party as an excuse to see you again.”

 

“You wanted to see me?”

 

“Of course,” Magnus replies easily, swirling his wine, “I considered calling before as well, but I wasn’t sure how you’d take to that.”

 

Alec isn’t sure either.

 

“Why,” Alec begins, then pauses. He sips from his wine. He swallows. “Why did you want to see me?”

 

Alec’s not sure what he expects, but it certainly isn’t Magnus smiling frankly, saying, “Because I like you.”

 

Alec looks at the Alpha.

 

“And before you ask me why I like you,” Magnus smiles over the rim of his glass, leaning back casually. As Magnus’ thigh presses against Alec’s, the Alpha says, “It’s because I can.”

 

Alec leans forward and puts his glass on the footrest in front of them.

 

“Because I think you’re attractive,” Magnus goes on, and Alec can feel the weight of his gaze, “And because, after talking to you, I think you’re interesting.”

 

“High praise for a man you’ve known for less than two weeks,” Alec rasps, and he realizes that just before he says it: he’s only known for Magnus for a little more than a week.

 

“Do I need any longer?” Magnus asks easily. He swills his wine. Then, after placing the empty glass on the footrest next to Alec’s full one, he asks, “Do you?”

 

“No,” Alec admits.

 

“Would you mind if I kissed you?” Magnus asks again, casually, easily, and Alec’s breath hitches in his chest.

 

“No,” Alec says again, leaning back and turning his torso at the waist to better fit his chest against Magnus’ as the other man leans in close, his breath and his scent and his body both warm and familiar.

 

But Magnus doesn’t kiss him -- not yet.

 

Magnus leans close, one hand sliding up Alec’s thigh and the other coming to rest comfortably on Alec’s waist, their chests pressed against each other, but their mouths not touching.

 

Alec thinks that the space between their mouths is like the space between a writer’s calloused fingers and a fountain pen, like the space in the shell of a young, growing hermit crab, like a space waiting to be filled, thrumming with anticipation, a space between two breaths, a pause --

 

“Kiss me,” Alec says, and it’s satisfying to see Magnus’ eyes trace the movement of his lips.

 

“Now?” purrs Magnus, even though Alec _knows_ that Magnus wants him. Magnus’ hand twists around Alec’s waist like a vice and his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows; and now that Alec’s eyes are wandering, he can’t stop looking over the impossibly smooth expanse of Magnus’ skin, the very very kissable swell of his lips, the shadows of his collarbones and the dip there.

 

“Kiss me now,” Alec says.

 

And Magnus obliges, removing his hand from Alec’s waist and then, abruptly, unexpectedly, reaching up to tug at the neck of Alec’s shirt, dragging the soft cotton down to reveal bare skin --

 

And Magnus kisses him there, his mouth open and wet and hot against Alec’s bare skin, his tongue raking over collarbones before trailing up the line of Alec’s throat.

 

Alec throws his head back reflexively, baring his neck. His mouth falls open in a silent gasp and Magnus makes a contented noise, crowding forward until Alec’s back hits the arm of the couch and, as Magnus continues moving forward -- his elbow bumping into the side of the couch and his thigh nudging at one of Alec’s knees -- Alec obliges. He spreads his legs, allowing Magnus to crawl up into the space that that leaves.

 

With a satisfied hum, Magnus withdraws, his mouth slightly pink. “Can you take off your shirt for me, Alexander?” he asks.

 

Alec scrambles to take off his shirt before Magnus even finishes his sentence, reaching up to tug at the back of his collar, tug his shirt all the way off and toss it onto the floor next to the couch.

 

“I think I’ll kiss you some more now,” Magnus says, casual as you please.

 

“On the mouth,” Alec all but demands, and Magnus’ eyes flash.

 

For the second time that night, Magnus leans close, the cold buttons of his dress shirt eliciting a shiver out of Alec when they press against Alec’s bare skin; Alec’s nipples tighten and his thighs squeeze together instinctively, pressing into Magnus’ hipbones, trying to keep Magnus there.

 

“As you wish,” Magnus says, his breath warm against Alec’s cheek, and Alec sees the beautiful fan of Magnus’ eyelashes against his cheek just as Magnus dips his neck, his lips no more than a hair away from Alec’s --

 

A kiss, quick like the efficient swipe of an artist’s brush, a stroke of watercolor against white canvas --

 

Alec breathes out and blinks; Magnus has directed his attention to Alec’s chest, hovering his open mouth down the length of Alec’s sternum, his breath hot against Alec’s bare skin. He doesn’t touch -- his perfect lips hover, still that space left between Alec’s skin and Magnus’ mouth -- sliding lower and lower down Alec’s body, over the bumps of his ribs and down the expanse of his belly, over his belly button.

 

“Magnus,” Alec breathes out, blinking rapidly. At his sides, Alec’s hands have twisted into the material of the couch, his nails clawing into the fabric. As Magnus looks up through his eyelashes, Alec’s stomach twists into something vicious and feral.

 

Lowly, Magnus says, “Don’t move.”

 

Alec’s tongue darts out to lick his lips.

 

Magnus ghosts his mouth over the strip of skin between Alec’s belly button and his beltline, his breath ruffling the fine hairs there. Alec feels a needy whine building in the back of his throat and clamps down on it ruthlessly, digging his hands tighter into the couch, refuses to let his hips buck upwards, toward the heat of Magnus’ mouth.

 

And Alec isn’t in heat anymore; there are no pheromones to blame, no way to excuse the building desire in his gut, the aching need to be filled, to be taken --

 

Magnus lets the tip of his tongue slip from between his lips, and Alec watches, transfixed, as Magnus drags just the tip of his tongue down the trail of hair that leads below Alec’s belt; there’s no way now, it’s impossible for Magnus not to notice the tent in Alec’s pants.

 

And Magnus places a kiss on Alec’s belly, to a bare piece of skin, his lips warm. At the same time, Magnus drags four fingers down the length of Alec’s thigh, eliciting a shiver out of Alec even through his pants.

 

Magnus pulls back completely, a cold rush of air coming in to take his place, and Alec’s hips buck up of their own accord; Alec _wants_ \--

 

There is something to said about the rawness in Magnus’ eyes, that unfiltered desire; Alec feels like an animal, he feels like _prey_ and he revels in the acceleration of his heartbeat, the way his entire body squeezes in on itself, waiting for Magnus’ touch.

 

“Come here,” Magnus says, from where he stands at the other end of the couch, his eyes dark in invitation.

 

“Now?” asks Alec, the corner of his mouth lifting as he throws Magnus’ words back at him.

 

“Come here, now,” Magnus commands, stepping out a little more with his left foot, leaving a space between his legs; Alec has no intentions of declining his invitation.

 

The authority in Magnus’ voice sends a shiver through Alec; he feels soft and open and raw and ripe as he rises, walks unsteadily toward Magnus.

 

As he draws closer, Magnus has to tip his head back, very very slightly, to look Alec in the eye and say, “What do you want from me, Alec?”

 

Alec steps into the space between Magnus’ legs, reaching out to fist two hands in Magnus’ button-up shirt and practically lunging forward to close the space between their mouths, forcibly pressing their lips together.

 

And Alec feels the press of Magnus’ palms, warm and large, against his backside, trailing down to squeeze the swell of his ass; Alec leans into Magnus’ body, pulling them down until they all but collapse on the floor in a heap of limbs and flesh. Alec ends up with his chest pressed against Magnus’, who lies with his back plastered against the carpet, his mouth still pressed against Alec’s.

 

Alec suddenly grinds _down_ , pressing his hardness against Magnus’ belly purposefully; there’s no way Magnus can miss that now.

 

Then Alec lets his tongue slip out of his mouth, swiping across Magnus’ bottom lip. Alec moans throatily when Magnus reaches down to roll his body up, against Alec’s cock.

 

Something charged waits in the room, something electric and something dangerous, when Magnus suddenly catches Alec’s calf with an ankle and then yanks swiftly; Alec lands on the floor with a thud as his back flattens against the carpet, their positions suddenly switched.

 

“Is this alright?” Magnus breathes out.

 

Alec looks up at him, feels the flush spreading across his cheeks, the dangerous adrenaline rushing just underneath his skin. Here is Magnus Bane, a stranger, an Alpha, offering him a _choice;_ this is something new and something different.

           

And Alec nods once.

 

And then Magnus is -- Magnus is _everywhere_ : his hands flitting over Alec’s chest, his breath over Alec’s cheeks, his body rolling against Alec’s erection. Magnus reaches for Alec’s hands, stacking Alec’s wrists on top of each other and then gripping them with one hand, pinning Alec’s hands above his head.

 

“What will you let me do to you, Alexander?” Magnus asks.

 

And in the moment, Alec’s glad that Magnus chooses then to reach down with his other hand, cupping the bulge in Alec’s pants lightly. Alec lets out a breathy sigh, swallows down the ‘ _anything_ ’ that threatens to escape from between his lips.

 

Impulsively, Alec bucks his hips upwards, and Magnus smirks in response. “Excited?” he asks and Alec throws his head back when Magnus squeezes suggestively.

 

Magnus is kissing the side of Alec’s neck, working what feels like an impressive hickey into the skin there, and the whole world feels new -- without the haze of heat, everything is, is _more_ ; everything is raw and real and Alec can’t stop himself from _feeling_ \-- when something buzzes in the pocket of his jeans.

 

“That’s you,” Magnus murmurs against Alec’s neck, his breath cool against the stripe of saliva painted across Alec’s skin, “I left my phone in the kitchen.”

 

Let it be. Let it wait.

 

Alec grabs his phone out of his pocket and tosses it across the living room floor haphazardly; the phone slides easily across carpet and ends up far, far away.

 

“Or that,” hums Magnus. The Alpha reaches for Alec’s hands again, wrapping his fingers around Alec’s two wrists and then effectively pinning them onto the floor above Alec’s head.

 

Beads of sweat are strung across Alec’s forehead and his cheeks are completely flushed; his mouth hangs open, wanton, and his eyelids have fluttered shut of their own accord, his entire body aching, waiting, and desperate for Magnus’ touch, for Magnus’ body to close the space between their chests, their hips, their cocks.

 

“Hm,” Magnus hums appreciatively, as he ghosts two fingers down Alec’s bare chest, his abdomen, running the rim of his nail down to the trail of sparse hairs leading underneath Alec’s belt. “You’re lovely, Alexander.”

 

Heat pools low in Alec’s belly as Magnus’ words ring in his ears and as Magnus rubs the pad of his thumb over the bulge in Alec’s pants -- his touch teasing and warm but not enough to offer any kind of relief.

 

“Magnus,” Alec breathes out, blinking his eyes open, staring unseeing at the dark ceiling, “Magnus, I need -- ”

 

A loud, sharp ringtone fills the air, emanating from Alec’s cellphone.

 

Alec jerks up at the sound reflexively, his arms breaking free from Magnus’ grip easily, sitting up.

 

“Is that the ascending ringtone? The iPhone ringtone?” Magnus clucks his tongue and sits up as well, kneeling next to where Alec sits on the floor. “How drab.”

 

“It’s a classic,” manages Alec, reaching across the carpet to snag his buzzing phone.

 

“I hope you set my ringtone to something else,” Magnus comments easily. The Alpha doesn’t sound out of breath at all, and so Alec tries to even his breathing, tries to slow his racing heart. “Something tropical.”

 

“Steel drums?” offers Alec, pressing the red button on his screen. He clicks his phone off as the image of Izzy fades.

 

Rising to sit on the couch, Magnus asks, “Got anywhere to be?”

 

“Nowhere important,” says Alec, shoving his phone into his pocket and getting onto the couch, all but clambering into Magnus’ lap.

 

“Mhm,” Magnus says in answer when Alec kisses him roughly. Alec manages to fist one hand into the silky material of Magnus’ shirt when Magnus pulls away and says, “If you have to go, you can go, Alexander.”

 

Alec frowns, pulling away as well. Alec realizes that their legs are twisted awkwardly together, and one of Alec’s knees pushes into the crack between cushion and couch arm. “I -- what?”

 

Magnus shifts, pulling back a bit so that Alec sits more comfortably. With one hand, Magnus reaches up to pull the pad of his thumb down the line of Alec’s throat, and with the other, the Alpha grips the back of the couch. “If you have to leave, you can leave. I’m not forcing you to stay.”

 

Out of nowhere, anger -- unbidden, uncalled for, and unneeded -- grows suddenly out of nothing and grips Alec’s insides, twisting them painfully.

 

Alec scoots back, pulling out of Magnus’ grip. “Do you want this or not?” he demands suddenly, over the rush of anger in his ears, the boiling rage in his belly.

 

And Magnus opens his mouth; it looks as though he’s going to begin a long and lengthy answer so Alec darts forward and captures the beginning of Magnus’ sentence with his lips, fishing a shallow moan out of Magnus’ throat for a more succinct response instead.

 

“Don’t think,” Magnus groans when Alec presses his entire front against Magnus’, “Don’t think we’ve finished talking about this,” the Alpha warns.

 

“Sure,” Alec breathes out, tugging at Magnus’ silky shirt.

 

Let it be. Let it wait. All Alec knows now is that he wants; he wants to forget and he wants to live in the moment --

 

“Just take off your clothes. _Now_ ,” Alec says.

 

Magnus chuckles at this, tugging at the back of Alec’s neck -- fingers gripping in the short hairs there -- and dragging their mouths together.

 

“Bedroom, I think,” Magnus says, when he pulls away.

 

Alec nods, unable to speak.

 

Alec blinks and then Magnus is dragging the two of them down his hallway, past beautiful vases and oil paintings, into his lavish bedroom. Alec blinks again and then he’s splayed across the bed, the bare skin of his back touching the cool material of Magnus’ dark sheets.

 

Near the foot of the bed, Magnus is undoing the buttons of his shirt while watching Alec. To see better, Alec pushes himself onto his elbows.

 

Magnus pulls off the shirt with a flourish, revealing the shadow of a bulge in his pants -- the only outward sign that he’s as aroused as Alec; otherwise, Magnus’ skin is unflushed and his hair still perfectly tousled.

 

“Are you done?” Alec asks dryly, raising his eyebrow.

 

“Quite,” Magnus purrs, tossing his shirt onto the floor behind him as he _crawls_ onto the mattress, up the sheets until their bare chests align, and _fuck_ , isn’t that a nice sight to see?

 

As Magnus leans in and presses his open mouth against Alec’s cheek, Alec reaches up to lace his hands behind Magnus’ neck, his thumb brushing idly against the coarse hairs at the nape of his neck.

 

“Alright?” Magnus breathes, and rolls his hips -- sending a delicious wave of friction up Alec’s spine -- in question as well.

 

Alec hums, gently tugging on the longer strands of Magnus’ hair so the Alpha pulls his head back and meets Alec’s gaze.

 

“Alright?” Magnus repeats, and Alec runs his tongue over his bottom lip without thinking about it, dragging his hands through Magnus’ perfect hair, ruining it, and then trailing two fingers down the length of Magnus’ cheek, down the perfect line of his jaw before touching the crease of his mouth. And this? This feels intimate, this touch -- of fingers against lips, of skin against skin --

 

When Magnus smiles, Alec feels the motion with his fingertips.

 

“Weren’t you ever taught not to tempt an Alpha?” Magnus purrs, his lips moving beautifully against Alec’s palm, against the line of Alec’s thumb, as Alec trails his pointer finger down the slope of Magnus’ nose, down his philtrum, stroking the crease of Magnus’ mouth.

 

“Is this what this is?” Alec counters.

 

A low growl rumbles in Magnus’ chest and Alec feels the vibrations within his own chest.

 

Alec reaches up with both hands, cupping Magnus’ face in his two hands, the tip of his pinky finger flitting over the corner of Magnus’ mouth, as if Alec were a painter and his finger were a brush, as if Magnus’ mouth were a jar of paint and Alec wanted to dip his hands in and paint the world black and blue. “I just want to touch you,” Alec breathes out.

 

“The question remains,” Magnus says, his eyes dark and teasing.

 

“No,” Alec says, without even bothering to lie. “I was never taught anything like that.”

 

For a second, Magnus’ eyes narrow.

 

And then, “Why?” Alec blurts out, his fingers still mapping the lineaments of Magnus’ face, “Should I not tempt you?” Alec feels his mouth curl into a half-smile, “Will you let go?” As if to emphasize his point, Alec bucks his hips upward, rolling his stomach into the jut of Magnus’ hard cock. “Would you take control?”

 

“Alec,” Magnus says lowly, perhaps warningly. There’s a quiet rustling noise as Magnus’ fingers tighten on the sheets.

 

“Would you push me up against a wall, Magnus?” Alec murmurs. An inexplicable thrill rushes through him as he imagines it, “Would you take me like that? Would you -- ”

 

Alec breaks off with a huff as Magnus neatly flips him over, so that Alec lands on his belly, his breath knocked out of him.

 

“No,” Magnus says, just as quick, slivers of his teeth pressing against Alec’s temple when he speaks, “Tempt me as much as you’d like, Alec Lightwood; I have a willpower of steel.”

 

Two hands plant themselves on Alec’s backside -- one beneath his left shoulder blade, the other right above his waistline -- pinning him down against the mattress.

 

“Unless,” Magnus continues, his breath warm next to Alec’s ear, and Alec can’t see anything other than the swirling pattern of black silk on the bedsheets, but he can feel _everything_ , “Unless you tell me to. Then, _then_ , I would slam you against that wall Alec, and I’d do with you what I wanted.”

 

Alec feels everything: the wonderful way Magnus’ entire body presses down on him, like the heavy drapes of darkness in those silent moments before dawn, when the night folds itself over the earth, refusing the quiet supplications of light. Arousal curls around Alec’s spines, ribbons of it threading throughout his belly.

 

“Really,” breathes out Alec, his voice raspy. Alec arches his lower back up slightly -- lordosis behavior, he thinks to himself for a split second before the thought slides away -- his lumbar and his ass pressing against the thick length of Magnus’ erection. There’s a charged moment, an electric moment, a very very dangerous moment wherein Alec makes sure to taste the words, test the shape of them with his tongue before he asks, “Do you have control now? Are you in control now?”

 

“Do you want me to be?” Magnus’ voice, low and full of promise, sends an involuntary shiver down Alec’s spine.

 

Alec does not need an Alpha; he isn’t in heat --

 

“Do you want me to let go?” Magnus continues, and his hard cock brandishes a thick, hot line into the flesh of Alec’s ass, “Do you want me to take control?”

 

At this, Alec can’t help but let out a throaty whimper that clogs his throat, his eyes fluttering shut of their own accord; his entire body’s pinned into place and he can’t do anything except listen to Magnus’ voice.

 

“Like our first night? Do you remember the first time? Alexander?”

 

Everything is so different now; Alec can feel everything -- the subtle rasp of Magnus’ dry lips against his sweaty temple, the insistent press of Magnus’ palms against Alec’s backside, the hot length of Magnus’ cock nudging against Alec’s ass and Alec wants that in him -- oh God --

 

“Do you remember? When I pushed you against the rail of the stairwell,” Magnus breathes out, and Alec can feel his heart pounding erratically in his ribcage; he’s never been turned on like this before, he’s never --

 

“And when I spread you open; when you were so wet for me?”

 

A whimper escapes from Alec’s throat. He rocks his hips slightly, first canting forward into the mattress in a pathetic attempt to relieve some of the aching pressure in his pants, and then rocking backwards, reveling in the feel of Magnus’ body against his backside --

 

“Are you wet for me, Alexander?” Magnus rasps.

 

“Oh my God,” Alec manages, his throat thick with want. His fingers curl into the thick sheets underneath him and the edges of Alec’s vision begin to blur with darkness; with Magnus’ furnace of a body pressing down on him, with Alec sandwiched between the mattress and Magnus, with all of these things considered, it should be swelteringly hot, oppressively hot --

 

“Do you want me to take control?”

 

And it _is_ , but not in an uncomfortable way --

 

It feels -- it feels _right_ , for Alec to be here, right here, for an Alpha -- for his Alpha -- curling up his spine and arching his back and moaning heavily and whimpering, _begging_ \--

 

“Alec,” Magnus breathes out and this time, the Alpha’s hoarse voice feels like sandpaper against Alec’s eardrums, “Are you with me?”

 

“I want -- ” Alec begins, and his voice is embarrassingly small.

 

“Tell me what you want,” Magnus says, breathy.

 

Magnus rocks forward slightly and Alec sucks in cool air through his open mouth, splays his legs open a little further automatically, allowing the girth of Magnus’ hips to slot neatly between his thighs, allowing Magnus to brush his erection against the material covering Alec’s crotch with every shallow thrust in a mimicry of what Alec wants, in a coarse imitation of what Magnus should be doing to Alec.

 

“Fuck me,” Alec bites out, twisting out from underneath Magnus and turning until the knobs of his spine brush against the soft material of the sheets underneath him, until he lies supine on the bed. “Fuck me hard,” Alec breathes. After he finishes forming the last consonant, Alec doesn’t bother to close his mouth; his lips part as if he can still smell the pheromones in the air, as if he were still in heat.

 

Magnus’ eyes darken.

 

“Push me up against the wall, pin me down, and _fuck_ me,” Alec goads. And it feels like a dare when he adds, “Lose control. Fuck me like you mean it.” The additional _you won’t_ remains unsaid.

 

And it’s a little petty; it’s a little petulant, but Alec doesn’t want to _talk;_ he wants to live, he wants to feel, he wants _Magnus_.

 

Which, of course, is why when Alec Lightwood decides that he will have nice things, the world decides it will not give him aforementioned nice things.

 

Alec’s back pocket vibrates and his phone rings again, the ascending noise filling the room.

 

“Ignore it,” Alec pants, grabbing at Magnus’ shoulders.

 

But his fingers can’t find purchase on the smooth, sweaty skin, and Magnus pulls away, his expression clouded.

 

“Alec,” Magnus begins, and Alec shifts a bit to slide one hand into his back pocket, flipping his phone onto silent-- something he really should’ve done the first time his phone buzzed -- and then reaches up to press his mouth against Magnus’, his tongue sliding out easily to supplicate against Magnus’ lips. At the same time, Alec reaches down and deftly begins to undo Magnus’ zipper.

 

“Hey,” Magnus says, a little breathlessly -- Alec feels a sharp sense of pride at having done that -- “Alec, if you have to go -- ”

 

“I don’t,” Alec says bluntly, his words cutting through Magnus’ sentence.

 

Alec doesn’t need an Alpha; he’s here because he wants to be; he’s here because he _can_ be --

 

And then Alec surges up, reaching out and hooking his knee around Magnus’ waist, flipping them around so that Magnus lands with his back on the mattress. Magnus blinks twice as Alec slithers down the length of Magnus’ body, his open mouth hovering over Magnus’ open zipper, over the impressive tent in the Alpha’s pants.

 

“Alexander -- ”

 

“Magnus,” Alec answers, voice low.

 

“I don’t want to obligate you -- ”

 

“You don’t want a blow job,” Alec says disbelievingly, looking up plainly.

 

“No,” Magnus begins, and he looks torn, “I just don’t want you to feel like I’m making you -- ”

 

“You’re not making me do anything,” Alec’s mouth twists into a frown, “I’m here of my own volition -- ”

 

Magnus says, “I just don’t want you to use -- use this,” he waves a hand between their bodies, “To prove anything.”

 

“Prove what,” Alec says, pulling back now. His anger returns, just as suddenly as the first time, except now it’s cold and it’s a slow anger, a glacier of rage frozen underneath Alec’s skin.

 

“I don’t know,” Magnus frowns, leaning back as well, mirroring Alec’s position as if to placate him, as if to soothe him. “I don’t know what you’re trying to prove or who you’re trying to -- ”

 

“I’m not proving anything to anyone,” Alec says, although the Arctic rage in his belly seems to declare otherwise.

 

“Right,” Magnus says, his expression blank.

 

“Look,” Alec sighs, closing his eyes for a moment and rubbing his temple. “I came here so I could forget. Magnus, I -- I told you before, I just -- ” Alec licks his lips, opening his eyes to see Magnus watching him, and tries again.

 

“I didn’t want to think. I came here -- the only reason I came here -- was to have sex. With you.”

 

“The only -- ” Magnus begins to echo exasperatedly but then breaks off. Instead he says, “Then what about the first night?”

 

“The first -- what?” Alec sits up, his back brushing against the plush pillows behind him. He resists the urge to grab a pillow and cover his half-hard cock.

 

“What was your reason,” Magnus explains, and really, it’s unfair how attractive the man is, even with his expression closed off like this, “The very first night at the club?” Magnus raises an eyebrow. “It didn’t seem like you were looking for sex then.”

 

“I -- ” Alec breaks off. He thinks that this is much more complicated than a hookup should be -- or maybe they’re all like this? How would he know?

 

“Alexander,” Magnus begins, shifting slightly. The Alpha’s pants rasp against the silky material of the sheets as Magnus slides off the sheets and stands. “It’s fine.”

 

“Is it?” Alec asks and he opens his mouth to speak when his phone buzzes annoyingly in his pocket. “Ah, fuck,” growls Alec. He makes a mental note to himself to turn “vibrate on silent” to off when he gets home.

 

“No, I get it,” Magnus breathes out, looking unbelievably put together for someone who was just rutting against Alec a mere two minutes ago. Then Magnus quirks his lips attractively, his smile half there, half lost to something else.

 

“Would it have helped if I had changed my ringtone to steel drums instead?”

 

Magnus lets out a rough laugh at that and Alec feels himself smile.

 

“Okay, so maybe not,” Alec says, “But -- ”

 

“Just,” Magnus starts, but then stops uncharacteristically.

 

Alec glances out of the window and then, just as quickly as it came, Alec’s anger bleeds out of him, leaving him hollow and -- and _tired_. The fight and adrenaline drains in a rush and Alec backs off.

 

“Okay, look, Magnus, I didn’t mean to come off like that. I’m -- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean -- ” Alec breaks off, _again_ , and he thinks he’d rather have this conversation with his shirt on.

 

Alec sits up straight and swings his legs over the edge of the bed.

 

“It’s been a long day,” Magnus supplies, just as Alec gets up and stands.

 

“Yeah,” Alec exhales, “Yeah, it has been.” He stands there for a moment, awkwardly, still half-hard and still tired.

 

“I should probably -- ” Alec begins at the same time Magnus says, “Don’t feel obligated to leave.”

 

“You don’t have to leave,” Magnus says over him, standing up and following Alec out of the open bedroom door. “Granted,” he continues, his voice reverberating in the dark red corridor that leads to the living room, “The mood may be ruined, but.”

 

Magnus pauses when they reach the living room, as Alec bends over to swipe his shirt off of the floor next to the couch. “We don’t have to do anything. We can just -- ”

 

“Talk?” Alec finishes the sentence for him, while simultaneously pulling on his shirt. Flushing, Alec straightens, all too aware of the way Magnus’ eyes linger appreciatively on his bare skin. He can’t say he completely hates the feeling. “No, thank you, Magnus,” Alec says, tugging at the hem of his shirt, “But it’s fine. I should -- I should be going anyway.”

 

At this, Alec turns away so he won’t have to meet Magnus’ gaze.

 

“Do you need a ride back?” Magnus asks a heartbeat later.

 

“No,” Alec breathes, “I’m fine.”

 

“Alright, but,” Magnus says, “My original statement still stands.”

 

Alec turns to look at him in question.

 

“My original statement still stands,” Magnus repeats, his gaze unwavering, “I hope next time I won’t have to use a party as an excuse to see you again.”

 

Alec stops in front of Magnus’ open front door and smiles faintly. His stomach twists with a mix of disappointment and a quiet sense of understanding.

 

“Goodnight, Magnus,” he says, but deep down, somewhere underneath his disappointment and his anger, Alec thinks that he’ll be seeing Magnus again.

 


	3. make sure you're going the distance

 

After leaving Magnus’ apartment, making his way down three flights of stairs, navigating through the smoke and haze of Pandemonium, and stepping out onto the wonderfully cool air of the pavement, Alec stands on the concrete for a long moment.

 

The air rushes around him, cool and soothing. Alec breathes in, long and deep, holding the air inside of him for a long while. Then he exhales, long and slow, his breath condensing and billowing out like smoke.

 

Alec hails a cab, and as soon as he slides into the car, he pulls out his phone to call Izzy.

 

His phone rings, long and tinny, and Alec taps his foot impatiently, leaning back in the buttery, leathery seat, feeling the pressure building on his lumbar. After a slight twinge of discomfort, Alec slides up again, straightening his spine to relieve the pressure on his lower back.

 

Izzy doesn’t pick up and that’s -- that’s odd, seeing as there are three missed calls from her logged on Alec’s phone from within the last two hours. He sighs and taps out a quick text asking her where she is, then leans back in the seat.

 

_Tell me what you want,_ Magnus had said.

 

Alec represses a shudder.

 

The apartment is empty when Alec returns, at some ungodly hour in the night. For that, Alec overtips the cab and decidedly pushes all thoughts of Magnus out of his mind as he climbs the steps to his apartment.

 

He could take the elevator up, but the stairs that snake along the side of the brick building offer a way for Alec to clear his mind -- besides, it’s not like he has anything else to do.

 

Izzy’s nowhere to be found; the curtain waves gently in an evening breeze and Alec walks over to slide the window shut, blocking out all sounds of the city symphony as well.

 

Alec’s moving around in the kitchen, shuffling through a few cupboards and swinging open the refrigerator mindlessly when he has an odd desire to bury his nose in Izzy’s dark hair, breathe in her scent -- he knows this Alpha’s scent like a shark knows blood -- and hold her.

 

Then he blinks. Alec shuts the refrigerator.

 

He doesn’t often indulge in this kind of thinking, so it’s odd that his mind decided to pursue such an intimate gesture.

 

Alec shakes his head and opens the refrigerator again.

 

He heats up some leftovers and settles down at the kitchen table, resolutely ignoring the bright green _2:_ 03 AM that flashes on the microwave. His leg shakes anxiously of its own accord.

 

His thoughts are quiet for a moment, turning over the events of the day when a vivid memory surfaces.

 

_Are you wet for me, Alexander?_ Magnus had said.

“Fuck,” Alec says aloud, his spoon clattering into his empty bowl.

 

_Do you want me to take control?_

 

Breathing raggedly, Alec abruptly stands up. The wooden legs of his chair screech across linoleum tiles and Alec winces at the noise. He places the empty porcelain bowl into the sink and wonders when Izzy will get home. Underneath his skin, energy thrums nervously.

 

After draining a glass of juice, Alec seriously debates whether he should jack off or not before Izzy comes back. He ends up pulling out his computer -- just to check a few emails before he takes a warm shower -- but it’s a near thing.

 

There’s a couple of emails from work; Alec skims through them quickly and then begins to log off when he sees an email from Izzy from a few hours ago.

 

Interest piqued, Alec settles back in his chair, frowning at his computer. He opens the email with a click, pressing the bar with his thumb.

 

The email has no subject and no message, save for a length URL to what looks like a PDF of a US history textbook.

 

Alec clicks on it.

 

The article’s titled “Age of the City,” a passage about the urbanization of America post-Civil War, but the link directs him to a section entitled “Strains of Urban Life.” Alec skims the first few lines, which describe millions of immigrants streaming into America, pouring into cities, searching for work.

 

“Newly arrived immigrants needed help in adjusting to American urban life,” Alec reads aloud, “For many residents of the inner cities, the principal source of assistance was the political machine.”

 

He frowns.

 

With a click, Alec returns to his Gmail tab, reopens the email Izzy sent him, and double-clicks the link for the second time. It takes him to the same page, so Alec continues reading.

 

 

_The urban machine was one of America’s most distinctive political institutions. It owed its existence to the power vacuum that the chaotic growth of cities (and the very limited growth of city governments) had created. It was also a product of the potential voting power of large immigrant communities. Any politician who could mobilize that power stood to gain enormous influence, if not public office. And so there emerged a group of urban “bosses,” themselves often of foreign birth or parentage._

_The principal function of the political boss was simple: to win votes for his organization. That meant winning the loyalty of his constituents. To do so, a boss might provide potential voters with occasional relief -- baskets of groceries, bags of coal. He might step in to save those arrested for petty crimes from jail. He rewarded many of his followers with patronage: with jobs in the city government or in such city agencies as the police (which the machine’s elected officials often controlled); with jobs building or operating the new transit systems; and with opportunities to rise in the political organization itself._

 

Alec’s frown deepens and suddenly the nervous energy thrumming underneath his skin simmers down to a low buzz. He hunches further over his computer, with no intention of leaving any time soon.

 

He skims over the rest of the passage. Most of it is dull and his eyes definitely glaze over a few times -- he reads one sentence three times in a row before finally understanding it -- but what he gets is this:

 

The machines could be used to make money, both openly and covertly; some city bosses were notoriously corrupt and controlled an unbelievable amount of power and influence; the power of immigrant voters, who were better treated by the machines than the government or reformers, provided power to boss rule; rich citizens and organizations often profited from dealings with bosses too; the federal government at the time was inadequate enough that the machine and the boss provided an alternative form of government.

 

It’s interesting, but Alec doesn’t know how it applies to anything yet, or if Izzy even meant to send him that article. Either way, he ends up reading for a while, before yawning and flipping through a few related articles on Wikipedia.

 

Alec lowers the brightness on his screen, blinking blearily at his computer. He taps a few links half-heartedly as the edges of his vision grow hazy with sleep. He’s pulled up an article about the Cross of Gold speech when sleep suddenly lulls over him in a wave and he drowsily places his head on his keyboard.

 

Just for a moment, he thinks to himself, before giving into the seductive tide of sleep.

 

\--

 

The apartment is wonderfully still the next afternoon, save for the quiet hum of traffic in the background, but Alec’s used to that now, so he wakes without a start, his eyes sliding open easily and his spine straightening as he rightens up in his chair.

 

With the movement, Alec accidentally jostles the keyboard of his computer. A Wikipedia article blinks at Alec as he stares at it tiredly.

 

Pale sunlight, nearly white as it filters through foggy clouds, streams into the kitchen, reflecting off of linoleum flooring and white walls. The house rings with silence and everything is still and quiet. A half-remembered image of Magnus’ kitchen bubbles up in Alec’s thoughts and he brushes it away easily. Alec glances at his clock; it’s already 3:26 PM.

 

Alec washes up in the bathroom for a few minutes before heading to the room at the end of the apartment, dragging one hand over his face tiredly all the while.

 

It takes a moment for Alec to warm up, but his muscles start to unclench and his limbs loosen as he begins with a slow pace on his treadmill. Soon, his heart beats loudly in his chest and Alec thinks he can feel his skin burning with energy; he feels invigorated and picks up the pace, grabbing onto the arm handles to accommodate.

 

For a handful of blissful moments, Alec’s mind goes blank; the only thing that registers is the _thump thump thump_ of his heart and the _thud thud thud_ of his shoes on the treadmill.

 

Then, for some inexplicable reason, a worn memory comes to mind.

 

It’s a sunlit memory, sepia around the edges: him and Izzy -- young, before any labels were ever hung over their heads, no Alpha or Omega or Beta identifications -- in the backyard of their old home in Virginia, the two of them crowded around a ladder underneath a plant that grows in a hanging pot in their backyard.

 

Around them, the dry dirt drinks up morning dew, the trees sway gently, and the slopes of their garden swell, pregnant with blue and red and purple flowers: it is springtime.

 

In their hanging plant, a hummingbird has decided to nest, built her nest underneath soft leaves and red germanium flowers. The two of them -- Izzy and Alec -- clamor underneath, arguing over who gets to climb the ladder first, peek into the hanging plant and catch a glimpse of a bit of shell, the ragged edge of a tiny nest.

 

The memory brings back a time from years ago, a time when Alec and Izzy picked weeds in the garden like how someone may walk along a beach barefoot and pick sea glass, a time when they made mudpies by unearthing grass and dirt and when they peeled back blistering bark like how kids peel back sunburnt skin. They were restless then, clamoring underneath a hummingbird’s nest, rocking the hanging plant side to side -- not because they wanted to hurt anything, but because of a carnal, childish desire to disrupt, to _destroy_ \--

 

They may disrupt the quiet afternoon but they don’t really change anything, no; spring fights back with gnarled roots and weathered bark and with a deadly crack of thunder, maintains its grip on the earth. Izzy and Alec are just two figures, two shadows.

 

Alec shakes his head, brushes sweat from his temple, and the sepia memory fades into white noise, shrinking with every _thump thump thump_ of Alec’s heart and blending into the _thud thud thud_ of Alec’s feet slamming into the treadmill.

 

Sweat drips down Alec’s spine in a slow dribble and Alec’s mouth falls open, his breath coming ragged and shallow. His thoughts turn away from faded memories.

 

And then, almost predictably, a scene from last night comes back to Alec.

 

_I’m always in control_ , Magnus’ voice reverberates in Alec’s chest, in his head.

 

Alec swings his arms a little faster, listening for the telltale hitch in his breath before the _thump thump thump_ of his heart accelerates as he speeds up.

 

Slivers of teeth pressing quick against Alec’s temple; _are you wet for me, Alexander?_

 

_Thump thump thump --_

Magnus’ body pressing warm and hot against Alec’s, pushing him into the mattress; _do you want me to take control?_ Would Magnus yank and tug, pushing Alec to his hands and knees? Or would he pin Alec against a wall, drag his jeans down and fuck him like that?

 

Alec clenches his teeth, listens for the _thud thud thud_ of his feet slamming against the treadmill.

 

_Tell me to, then I’d slam you against that wall, Alec -- I’d do with you what I wanted._

“Fuck,” Alec breathes out, blinking sweat out of his eyes; a thread of arousal weaves up his spine, just like it did last night.

 

_Thump thump thump thump --_

_Tell me what you want, Alexander;_ and the curve of Alec’s spine as Alec arched his back, as he pressed up into Magnus’ hard length --

 

A shrill beep cuts through his thoughts as Alec’s timer signals the end of an hour, and Alec decides to leave that train of thought for another time, hopping off the treadmill, breathing heavily, hands on his hips and thoughts turned resolutely away from one Magnus Bane as he pads into the kitchen.

 

The cold AC blasts and it elicits a wave of goosebumps to erupt on Alec’s skin as he enters. He drinks a glass of water and is halfway through an apple when the front door opens.

 

“’M back,” Izzy announces as she steps in.

 

She’s wearing everything she wore yesterday, save for the fact that her eyeliner’s a little smudged and she looks a little pale; but other than that, she looks fine.

 

“Izzy,” Alec sits up, ready to ask about the link she’d emailed him, but she interrupts.

 

“Why did you let me go?” she demands, stopping in front of him, one hand placed on her waist, one hip jutting out.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You didn’t want me involved at the scene last week; how come you were pushing for me to come last night? What changed your mind?”

 

Alec’s lips quirk. “Were you going to listen to me?”

 

“Well, no, but -- ”

 

“I couldn’t stop you from going to the club again, I knew that -- you’re as hard-headed as Mom -- and so all I could do was make sure you were safe. And that you were within regulation.”

 

She frowns. “Within regulation?”

 

“I sent an email to Fisk.” Alec pulls out his phone and opens up his mail app. “I asked him to put your name down as an informant. Told him you were interested in the case and we happened to stop by Pandemonium.”

 

Clearly, this wasn’t what Izzy was expecting. Her lips purse for a moment, and then her hand drops from her hip, her posture straightening. “Alec -- ”

 

“So now,” he continues, putting his phone into his pocket and looking up at his sister, “I may not approve of you getting involved, but at least you’re doing it legally.”

 

She huffs. “It wasn’t _illegal_ before.”

 

“Sure,” he says. Alec gestures to the fridge. “Leftovers in the takeout container.”

 

Isabelle hums contentedly. “You’re wonderful, you know that?”

 

Alec rolls his eyes.

 

“Listen, Alec,” Isabelle starts. “You know the file, it said this case was investigating money laundering.”

 

Alec agrees. “Yeah.”

 

“I don’t think -- it’s not that simple, there’s something more. We went, we went out for drinks and it seemed like a normal night for them, but I don’t know -- the girl, Clary, I talked to her a bit and she seemed nervous.”

 

“Like she didn’t want to be there?” Alex frowns.

 

“Like she owed the others something, I think. It’s like,” Isabelle puts her hands on her hips and taps her foot, in a posture reminiscent of their mother, “Like there’s a power play between them. Someone -- I don’t know who -- someone’s in charge, or maybe it’s all of them, I don’t know, and they’re in -- they’re in _control_ , Alec.”

 

“Of who?” Alec demands, “The club?”

 

“It’s more than that,” Izzy says. “Did you read the -- ”

 

“I read it,” Alec says before she can finish her sentence.

 

“I think,” she purses her lips, “It could be something like that.”

 

“You’re sure?”

 

“No, of course not, I told you -- ”

 

“We need to be sure about this,” Alec stresses.

 

“I _know_ , Alec, but I need more time. And either way, there’s something off about this. I’m not sure, but -- ” she breaks off when her phone buzzes. Izzy pulls out her phone. “Shit,” she says, her face twisting. “It’s Mom, I should -- ”

 

“Go,” Alec finishes. “It’s fine. Tell me afterwards.”

 

“Right,” Izzy says, stowing her phone away in her pocket hurriedly, “God, Alec, I’m sorry, I -- ”

 

“It’s not, like, time-sensitive, right?”

 

“Oh no,” Izzy shakes her head, shoving her shirt into her beltline to tuck it in quickly, “It’s fine -- I gotta -- ”

 

Alec exhales loudly. It’s a Sunday, and Alec doesn’t need to be at work. It’s already late -- after glancing at his clock, Alec sees that it’s almost six now. If he stays home now, he has only a stack of work and an empty apartment for company. Alec bites his lip and stands up as well, moving into the hallway as Izzy stuffs her things into her purse at the kitchen’s countertop.

 

“Where you going?” she calls after him.

 

“Out.”

 

She blinks. “Don’t stay out too late.”

 

He replies, “Good night, Izzy.”

 

\--

 

Alec lets the door of their apartment swing shut behind him. He’s in the stairwell, halfway a flight of stairs when he pulls his phone out of his pocket.

 

Magnus Bane’s contact stares up at him when he unlocks his phone and, for a moment, Alec stares back.

 

With a loud sigh, Alec locks his phone and hustles down the rest of the stairs, holding his hand out for a taxi when he reaches the concrete pavement.

 

He tells the driver the address and gets out at Pandemonium a handful of minutes later, breathing shallowly as he pushes open the door to the club.

 

The smoky atmosphere of Pandemonium wafts out to greet Alec before he even steps inside, the air of the club warm and almost familiar.

 

With a shuddery breath, Alec shoulders his way into the club.

 

An unfamiliar face tends the bar but Alec slips into an empty stool nevertheless, flagging down the bartender and ordering a drink with no desire other than to feel the cold sting of alcohol.

 

“Thanks,” he says, when she slides a glass across the counter to him.

 

He’s taken four, long sips when he feels a body close behind him.

 

“I’ve never seen you here before,” a warm voice resonates behind him.

 

Alec turns his head, only half-interested in identifying the voice. A tall woman stands by him, her curly hair ending somewhere between the bottom of her earlobes and her neck.

 

Turning back to his drink, interest gone, Alec says, “You must come here often then.”

 

She slips into the empty chair next to him. “And you don’t?”

 

Alec scoffs. “No. Not at all.”

 

“Too bad.”

 

When Alec parts his lips to sip at his drink, he catches a whiff of an unmistakable tang. An Alpha, then.

 

“You come here by yourself?” she speaks again.

 

Alec doesn’t look at her when he says, “I think you know the answer to that.”

 

“I’m surprised,” she comments, and there’s a clink as the bartender places a drink in front of her. “Pretty thing like you, all by yourself here.”

 

Alec stares down into his glass.

 

“Mind some company?” she continues.

 

“Maybe another time,” Alec says mindlessly, shifting in his seat.

 

“You sure?” she asks, sipping at her drink. “I’m -- ”

 

“There you are, I was just looking for you,” a third voice interrupts, and the space between Alec’s breaths seems to expand. “I thought you’d left already, Alexander.”

 

“Oh,” the woman says, one eyebrow arching. Her gaze darts from Magnus, where he stands very close to Alec, their flanks pressed together, to Alec. “I thought -- ”

 

Alec says nothing, but there’s a sudden tensing in his belly. He wonders if the Alphas can smell his sudden flare of arousal.

 

“Hi,” Magnus directs towards the other Alpha. At the same time, Magnus wraps an arm possessively around Alec’s waist. “Can I help you?”

 

For a moment, the hackles on both Alphas seem to rise and there’s an unspoken conversation between the two of them -- in the way they stare down the other and in the way the tension between them seems to solidify into something tight --

 

And then the woman dips her head in recognition, her mouth curling into a knowing smirk. “I don’t think so, no.” She cocks her head in consideration. “Not today, at least.” She drains her glass with a sense of finality and mock-salutes Magnus, winks at Alec, before sliding out of the chair.

 

“Hi,” Alec directs towards the remaining Alpha. At the same time, he swivels his chair so that Alec can tangle his legs in Magnus’ knees. “Can I help you?” Alec’s eyes round out with mirth and mockery, and he feels a slow smile spread across his lips. Five fingers press into Alec’s shirt, into his skin. Alec wonders if his body is reacting right now, at this very moment, his pulsing heart pumping out pheromones with the first deep lungful of Magnus’ scent --

 

“I think you can,” Magnus purrs, his hand trailing deliberately down Alec’s back, brushing over his waistline. “Don’t you?”

 

The trip to Magnus’ apartment takes only a short amount of time, but by the time they’ve stumbled down Magnus’ ornate hallway and into his ornate bedroom, Magnus already has one hand fisted in Alec’s shirt, Alec’s bottom lip caught between Magnus’ teeth.

 

Magnus takes a few steps forward and pushes Alec against the mattress, the backs of his knees hitting the lip of the bed.

 

“Do you remember,” Magnus begins, “The last time you were here, you told me you wanted me to fuck you like I meant it?”

 

Alec blinks stupidly. “I -- yeah.” In his chest, Alec’s heart pounds loudly.

 

“I’m going to ask you once,” Magnus says lowly, his hands fisting into Alec’s shirt, as he steps in between Alec’s legs. “Do you still mean it?”

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Alec breathes out, and then it’s as if a switch is flipped.

 

Magnus’ eyes flash and there’s nothing seductive about it; his gaze is hot and heavy as the Alpha surges forward, his hands sliding down Alec’s chest and his fingers wrapping around Alec’s wrists.

 

Immediately, Alec feels his chest tighten, his eyes fluttering shut as Magnus leans in and presses his mouth against Alec’s, their lips coming together in a rough kiss. Alec groans automatically and, as his lips part, Magnus pushes his tongue into Alec’s mouth.

 

Even with the mattress supporting his back, Alec’s knees literally tremble and it seems as though Magnus is kissing him from above -- that can’t be right, Alec’s taller than him -- but he doesn’t have time to think about it because both of them sink to the floor, Alec’s knees folding up in front of him, in front of his chest, his back still plastered to the bedframe behind him.

 

Magnus pulls back and places a hand on either one of Alec’s knees before pushing apart and if Alec wasn’t hard before, his cock twitches in his pants now, his mouth falling open and his cheeks flushed as Magnus situates himself between Alec’s thighs, still holding onto Alec’s wrists.

 

Magnus tugs on Alec’s wrists until they’re above his head, pinned against the lip of the mattress. “Keep these here for me,” Magnus says lowly, his gaze dark, and Alec nods, unable to form any words. Something in his head buzzes and Alec can’t focus on anything other than the smooth movements of Magnus’ chest, his breathing; they’re _here_ , they’re here, right now, and this is a result of all of those nights before, those sultry nights in the nightclub, in the stairwell, in Magnus’ sunlit kitchen.

 

Magnus makes quick work of Alec’s shirt, tugging the buttons open roughly, before all but ripping off Alec’s belt, undoing the fastening of his jeans while simultaneously running an open mouth down the line of Alec’s panting chest.

 

“Magnus,” Alec whines, bucking his hips up when Magnus drags his mouth tantalizingly close to the waistline of Alec’s jeans.

 

Magnus tugs on Alec’s pants, his words low and gravely as he says, “Look.”

 

“I don’t -- ”

 

“Do you see?”

 

“Oh my God,” Alec says, when he sees the folding mirror to the side of the bed, right in front of them. “Did you -- ”

 

Magnus chuckles and then pulls off Alec’s boxers with a quick flash of his wrist. “It was always there, darling, it’s just unfolded today.”

 

In the mirror, Alec stares at himself: the way his wrists catch the light, pale skin against dark silk, unmoving against the mattress; the pink flush of his cheeks and his lips, the latter nearly swollen; the open curve of his mouth as he pants heavily; the sweat sheening on his chest and the dark head of hair hovering over the v of his legs.

 

“Ah, God, Magnus,” Alec and his mirror image say, and Alec was never really one for admiring himself in the mirror, but there’s something about the curve of his body against Magnus’, the tantalizing line of Magnus’ ass as he bends over Alec’s cock.

 

And then Alec’s eyes snap shut, his head snapping back, as Magnus runs his wet tongue over the tip of Alec’s cock. “Magnus, I’ve never -- ”

 

“Oh, I know,” Magnus says roughly, all of the purr and all of the smoothness gone from his voice, “Keep your hands there, Alec, and watch.”

 

Almost against his will, Alec’s eyes open, and he meets his own gaze as Magnus gets his mouth, which is impossibly soft and wet, around the head of Alec’s dick.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Alec’s mirror image hisses, and Alec forcibly stops himself from throwing his head back in pleasure as his cock is engulfed in the warmth of Magnus’ mouth. If anything, the mirror – reflecting the bobbing motion of Magnus’ head, the rise and fall of Alec’s chest -- twists the knot in his stomach even tighter, and Alec has to concentrate on keeping his wrists against the bed, on not thrusting up into that dark warmth, on not coming right away.

 

With an obscene pop, Magnus pulls off. He slides up for a kiss. Alec’s just parted his lips to eagerly let Magnus in when a warm fist wraps around his cock.

 

Alec pants, “Magnus, I can’t -- I’m going to -- ”

 

“Come on,” Magnus says lowly, leaning forward to speak into Alec’s ear, “Come for me, Alexander.”

 

And Magnus’ hand works quick, hot and fast and furtive; Alec’s entire body tenses, something inside of him clenching into a fist and drawing his muscles tight; his heart races and sweat drips down his temple.

 

Alec comes with a soft grunt, his hips stuttering into Magnus’ fist. Even though the muscles in his body unclench, Alec’s chest tightens.

 

“Magnus,” Alec gasps, his wrists falling from the mattress, into the dark strands of Magnus’ hair.

 

Magnus doesn’t reply.

 

Instead, he maneuvers Alec onto his knees -- hands gripping Alec’s shoulders, the press of a warm thigh against his side -- and suddenly, Alec’s imbued with a sudden desire to please Magnus now. Alec keeps every limb and muscle in his body pliant; Magnus molds him like wet clay and Alec watches himself arch his spine in the mirror, on his hands and knees on the carpet next to the bed, blinking back the blur of his orgasm as Magnus pulls off the rest of his clothes hurriedly.

 

And this is no longer seduction -- Magnus has no honey in his voice and Alec does not want it -- it’s obscene and it’s filthy, as Magnus brings his hand to his mouth -- the spit in his palm glinting -- and as Magnus slides a finger down Alec’s spine, all the way down; it’s rough and it’s _delicious_ , as Magnus knocks Alec’s knees apart, spreading his thighs. Alec arches up in response, and in the mirror, all Alec can see is skin, flushed skin and curved bodies and warm flesh.

 

It’s obscene -- as Alec rocks back eagerly and as Magnus pushes two fingers into Alec, as Magnus stretches and as Alec pants heavily; in the mirror, he sees sweat dripping down his hair, onto his neck --

 

Magnus nudges Alec’s left thigh and Alec complies wordlessly, dragging his knee across the carpet with a wince. In the mirror Magnus’ eyes are dark. Alec curls his knuckles into the carpet, nails catching against the rough material, and then he feels the blunt head of Magnus’ cock before Magnus shoves forward.

 

A choked noise comes out of Alec’s throat and he takes half a breath before Magnus starts fucking him, rough and furtive and -- _fuck_ , the other half of Alec’s breath catches in his throat, he can’t --

 

“Like that?” Magnus says lowly, in between thrusts. He leans forward. Magnus’ gaze is unreadable in the mirror, as he reaches up to tangle his fingers in Alec’s hair. “You want me to fuck you -- like this? Alexander?”

 

When Magnus tugs on Alec’s hair -- that, that’s when Alec groans, choking out the air caught in his lungs, rocking on his hands and knees with the force of Magnus’ movements. And the blood is rushing through his ears, the sound of flesh on flesh loud and impossibly obscene, but not nearly loud enough to muffle Alec’s hoarse “ _Yes_.”

 

Then Alec can see Magnus’ eyes squeezing shut in the mirror, can feel Magnus’ fingers tighten in his hair, and then Magnus slams in, coming with a quiet grunt. Alec closes his eyes too, muscles trembling. He shivers.

 

Silence. Stillness.

 

Then Magnus unthreads his fingers from Alec’s hair slowly. Magnus’ hips stutter once, like an afterthought, before he slips out of Alec’s body. Slick come drips down Alec’s thigh.

 

“Alec,” Magnus says, not quite like a question. He’s still close, his chest pressed against Alec’s back, two fingers lightly skimming the back of Alec’s neck.

 

“Yeah,” Alec says. He blinks his eyes open and avoids gazing into the mirror.

 

“Come to the bathroom,” Magnus says, and this time, the words are resolutely not like a question.

 

They untangle slowly -- Alec stifles a wince when he feels the raw skin of his knees brush against carpet, when his thigh muscles quiver -- and Alec stands. For a second, his vision blurs, blooding rushing to his head, then he heads into the bathroom without hesitating.

 

His throat is sore, and when he enters the bathroom, the white tiles are cold underneath Alec’s feet.

 

Magnus’ steps, quiet but steady, follow Alec into the bathroom like a shadow. With a flick, the light flicks on and Alec manages to suppress a flinch.

 

“I want to take a shower.”

 

“Alright.” Magnus pauses for a moment after answering, and then Alec feels Magnus’ hand encircling his wrist.

 

Alec follows without a hitch, turning around to face Magnus with a single tug.

 

Alec drinks in the sight of Magnus, skin flushed, lips slick, and suddenly feels a constriction in his chest, as if his body were responding to the mere sight of Magnus. _Traitor_ , he thinks to himself, to his biology, even as he leans in to catch Magnus’ smirk between his teeth.

 

And Magnus’ hand tightens around Alec’s wrist, like a chain, while the other reaches up to cup the back of Alec’s neck, tugging him down to deepen the kiss.

 

As they look, Magnus’ lips are slick, wet, and slippery. His teeth are sharp and his smile tastes like something Alec could chase for the rest of his life.

 

Magnus catches Alec’s bottom lip between his teeth, presses down gently, just enough to leave an indentation, before pulling back with a chuckle. “Take a shower, pretty boy.”

 

Alec tries to follow, leaning in to try and kiss Magnus again, but the Alpha pulls away quick. “I’ll be outside.”

 

Magnus smiles and the bathroom door shuts with a click.

 

The shower water is warm as it streams down, pounding rhythmically on Alec’s back. He thinks of that memory -- of him and Izzy and the hummingbird nest. It was so easy to peer into that nest, see the jagged edge of an egg, a gray feather. Alec wishes he could peer into himself and see the same way.

 

When he finally finishes, Alec turns the shower handle with a squeak, and the water dribbles and dies. Steam fills the bathroom and the mirrors are fogged over. Alec pushes open the door and Magnus leans on the bed, legs crossed the ankles, tapping on his phone. He’s pulled on his jeans and his skin looks warm.

 

“Alright?” he looks up. “You took a while.”

 

“Were you worried?”

 

“Why would I be worried?”

 

Alec shrugs and steps back into the bathroom, turning on the water. He fills an empty glass with water and rinses his mouth.

 

Glass hits granite with a clink as Alec places his cup onto the counter next to the sink. As soon as he’s done so, Magnus -- who has entered the bathroom quietly -- slides up behind Alec. The rough material of Magnus’ jeans drags against the flushed, warm skin of Alec’s ass, his thighs. Magnus’ hands smooth across Alec’s shoulders and the ghost of Magnus’ lips hovers over Alec’s neck.

 

Without a word, Alec tilts his head back. Alec’s skin is flushed and sensitive from his warm shower, and goosebumps erupt on his skin as Magnus drags a cold hand down Alec’s chest, flicking at a dark nipple before brushing down to the smooth expanse of Alec’s thigh.

 

Since Magnus’ mouth is close -- tantalizingly close -- to Alec’s ear, it’s easy to pick up the sharp inhale that Magnus sucks in, like he wants to say something.

 

But Alec doesn’t let him, because he turns around, his blood already starting to pulse, and plants his hands on Magnus’ waist. With their height difference, it’s easy to pull Magnus into a kiss. And Alec feels the curve of Magnus’ spine, that wonderful arch right above the swell of Magnus’ ass, as he tugs Magnus close.

 

It’s easy to walk forward, pushing both of them towards the bed, and it’s easy to push Magnus down to the bed after the backs of his knees hit the mattress.

 

The black silk sheets whisper slightly as Alec works his way into Magnus’ mouth, relishing the quiet feel of Magnus’ tongue and skin; Alec doesn’t need an Alpha but he can certainly see the appeal of being one: the way that Magnus opens up so easily underneath him is addictive, as is the breathy moan that Magnus makes when Alec undoes the zipper of Magnus’ jeans, slips a hand inside to cup Magnus’ soft cock curiously.

 

Magnus moans again and reaches up to thread his fingers in Alec’s hair, his hips rocking slowly, almost mockingly slow, up into Alec’s tentative touch. And now, everything is slow and soft and raw; Alec can feel every hitch in Magnus’ breath and loves it: how them, the two of them -- their sex can be soft or slow or rough or furtive and each time, it gets better, as if Magnus were one of those puzzle balls and each time Alec gets better, nimble fingers working along the intricate design in an attempt to figure out how each piece fit.

 

“Come here,” Magnus says, and Alec looks up from where he’d been watching his hand work inside of Magnus’ jeans. “Come up here, God.”

 

“Now?” Alec quirks his lips.

 

Magnus tugs on Alec’s hair -- and, honestly, Alec should not be turned on by that, but he _is_ \-- and Alec can’t help but comply, clambering onto the bed, the raw skin of his kneecaps dragging against silk, up to Magnus, who hooks his leg around Alec’s, twisting their positions until he’s satisfied: Alec ends up with his head on the pillows, hips like parentheses around Magnus’ waist.

 

“Was it good?” Magnus asks, his voice smooth. “The sex?”

 

Alec feels his lips turning into a smile. “It’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”

 

The corner of Magnus’ mouth tugs upwards and Magnus traces a finger down the side of Alec’s cheek, over his lips, his chin. Magnus’ eyes fix on Alec’s mouth, his throat, his Adam’s apple -- wherever his hands trace; and Alec remembers that hummingbird nest -- they were restless back then -- and thinks of that carnal, spontaneous desire to disrupt, to destroy; he wants to see what would happen if he tried to fight back, to grab and scratch and _bite_.

 

The thought slides away as Magnus drags a finger down Alec’s chest. Magnus presses a quick kiss to Alec’s collarbone before slipping off of Alec, onto the bed. Their flaccid cocks brush. The sheets rustle underneath them as Magnus makes himself comfortable.

 

“You’re welcome to stay the night,” Magnus offers casually. One of his hands still brushes idly against Alec’s flank, switching between the light press of fingerpads and the erotic drag of fingernails.

 

Because he wants to -- to relish the feel of Magnus’ hands on his skin and to stay -- Alec says simply, “Alright.” And that’s that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The excerpt that Alec reads is from the AP edition of Alan Brinkley’s American History – Connecting with the Past.


End file.
